An infant coos
A toddler giggles
A child gleefully shouts “I love you!”
A mother sighs in exhausted content
No, don’t need one
Won’t likely have one
So why want one?
Why want?
An infant coos
A toddler giggles
A child gleefully shouts “I love you!”
A mother sighs in exhausted content
No, don’t need one
Won’t likely have one
So why want one?
Why want?
is it easier or harder
to want what everyone else wants?
what we are smiled upon for wanting?
what we are supported and celebrated for wanting?
or is it harder to want what no one else thinks you should want?
what you will be lectured about, advised about, discouraged and guilted about?
is it easier to try your best to conform and worry how you fall short?
Or is it easier to strike your own path and bear the cold shoulders and disapproving glares?
this whispers, the dead silences, the piteous, the nervous and ingenuine smiles?
when does it become easier to do your thing?
when does it become easier to do what you want?
when does it become easier to achieve what seems to come so easy to others?
when does it become enough?
when does it become easier?
i cannot see past this misery
it catches me unaware
i avert my eyes from happiness
it is a but a cruel reminder
of all that i cautiously….yet…willingly….hoped would be
and though i’ve always prepared for failure
i feel winded even before the blow
i feel hollow even before i know
of what i fear i already know is true
i cannot begin to imagine
what this will do to me
whatever impends
its coming
when assumed
takes the tyranny out of its tirade
take it in stride
and what keeps you at bay
becomes shallow enough
to wallow through…
a manic’s playground is my mind
entrapped within a jungle gym of ludicrous joy
buried deep within the soiled sands of plunging sorrow
an unbalanced act atop the high top
the too quick and slick descent of my sanity upon the slide
the cloying sweet-rancid smell of the tire swing
as i hold tight
sickened-spinning-dizzy from deciphering what’s real what’s not
sometimes
having reached
a foolish zenith
reason surpasses
the enduring calls of
past words
all that is subjected to difference
seems thinly veiled as the last
all disguising the one truth
with no more than a
used epiphany
Pearly maidens swirl towards existence
Waltzing upon marbled sea.
Frothing in frenzy they swell together
Ever nearing the point of return.
Do they escape to only return?
Or do they return only to escape?
As they perish on the threshold of foam
Ebbing aquatic souls reincarnate in successive waves
Hopelessly they wait upon Neptune’s grace.
Whirling in an ecstasy ever showering
the fluid folds with translucent gems.
Dissipating into liquid’s depth,
resurfacing to join the mer-melee.
Gracefully surging towards the siren’s lure
In desire to reach beyond the horizon…
To sashay past the cascading crescents
Flowingly fleeing the curves of the thunderous crush.
Is it Age which has tarnished this man?
loosened his tongue?
lessened his morals?
degraded his respect?
diminished his kindness?
Has wear and tear and time done its deed?
No….only that irrepressible bitterness of life
and its thorny, barren path.
Do i hate this one now?
No, not hate…after all that has gone by…
struggled and survived.
No, not hate…no, not a lot…just a little.
Ungratefulness is a nettle-laden venom
inflaming all those who are no less weaker than you.
see how selfish one is to remember:
only his errors, his faults
his stumblings-grumblings-bumblings
his wandering and oft lost thoughts…
see how my finger points…how my words sting,
even when inside i am only hurt because
i let the finger point and the words sting…
i have never
lay upon the roadside and cried for sleep
pleaded for water or whimpered for a meal
walked farther than far and still walked some more
bickered for space and frowned at innocent smiles
said words i did not believe
swore oaths i did not comprehend
felt pity drowning within myself
felt fright in sharing
guilt for still caring
accused innocent lives to continue with mine
i thought my nevers would last,but they betrayed me…
my never evers have become my now.
when we cannot have
what we want
our desires
become
more mercurious
the mediocre
becomes
more miraculous
the impossible
becomes
more spurious
the winner
becomes
more victorious
it is what colours
our reality
with yen
displaces us
from zen
it is why
we keep
waiting
for
when…