Port Angeles, Washington

Port Angeles

Come where the trees are always green and the oceans always blue

Where the crystalline nights form icicles on the rims of the houses

Where many wander the streets in sadness

A place of beauty, a people of tears

Rich soil of diamonds and gold, scraped at with the fingernails of the hopeful

Rich sky of stars to brighten the eyes, reached for by the dreamers but never caught

Rich land of plenty with a history to be known, slipping from the grasps of the keepers

Time is like the clocktower-- always ticking, never changing

The streets are busy with the cars of the lucky, the feet of the lonely

And the homes of the lost

Come where the fish used to jump out of each towering wave

Come where the dam rose up and where it fell

Come where the grass is always greener

The wind is always light

Unlock the code of the port of angels

To raise its people from their stoned stoned state

So they can raise their children to raise this town from its ashes

To open the eyes of its citizens so that they can see

These people aren’t evergreens-- they still change with the season

They may burn in the summer, wither away in the fall, freeze in the winter,

But they will always, always, bloom in the spring

These people are always growing

One day you might come and say that Port Angeles is a place of beauty and of people

And these people

Are beautiful

But for now, come for the trees and the ocean and the sky

Don’t come for the people

For the people, we cry