Philosophy

I have a longing for a gray middle
a beautiful median.
The deep, dark wells of Nietzche
leave me gasping; Motherland writing

is Silence 

and scares me.
But Dorothy’s rainbow and Tinker-dust
fade and fall to Earth, respectively,
just a tad too soon for contentment.

I need a third way, Mr. Frost.
A hoist and an anchor.
Find me a voice that whispers
            --it’s okay to be okay
                   and a little happy about it--
I’ll hear it, hug it,
and name it
Reality.