There is this mild incarceration of the human spirit,

waiting not patiently, more conservatively tempered

by a construct that lays out the lives of our world.

We are asked to imagine what is before our eyes,

and live with it with satisfaction, believing it is true.

We hold on with all our might to the escalation of

a cross examination in our mind, we will not ignore.

It’s like that still life painting hangs in my stairwell,

everything in the concept holds a sweeping purpose.

That was something in the eyes of the painter,

the inspiration being their own life in the moment.

Having spent my entire day trying to figure out why,

In solemn manner of memory, I know I might try.