Oh it is the season now,

and our lives,

torn up, shredded, a certain fodder in the air,

for Man might feel abused,

when in reality,

he ought felt this way,

decades ago,

a century perhaps,

so those followers

could stand a chance.

 

There’s no condemnation

could be strong enough to withstand

the scrutiny of the individual mind.

Oh to recognize the theoretical expanse

of the human condition

taken for chance.

 

If when a cry could send the body reeling,

a ledge perhaps, a modern day semi,

a conductor noticing in a sudden glance,

that life as easily as born,

would become just

an imaginative notion we enhance.

Oh then might the world better understand,

the turmoil in losing our concept on love,

is far greater than the answers we seek,

without the cherished ideal of support of understanding

of forgiveness when fear is our only safeguard.

 

For it is the toys of our world,

we focus upon today,

the frivolous in nature,

the common good toward overcoming the would

of this season

when buying her love is far greater

than actually knowing her sweet elegance.

 

There is lost in the masses of the local bistro,

the purpose in mind,

cell phones inclined,

to keep searching, keep your eyes open,

keep your conscience …

wanting,

we are all in lock-step,

trying to own the sensitive lift,

a spiritual sojourn,

the perfect gift.