Our Violent Humanity

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Samuel Corum/Anadolu Agency via Getty Images

 

It would seem we haven’t had enough,

Watching our neighbors fall to the sword,

The world around us eschewing the evil

Of a nation lost in a swirl of self-pity.

No one to blame but ourselves,

Yet that never comes into play,

We are soon to discover some outlet,

Easy to say we may fall personal prey.

In looking at the news today, I saw

Real lives being struck down, a society

Lost in its own pitfalls of insecurity,

All of them wondering, remaining alone.

When we might raise a flag to equality,

Shudder the notion that fire might stay,

The real burden of proof is our own lives,

Lost in the façade of believing in truth.

There is a Christian belief in humanity

Spouted from every possible pulpit,

Always with the best intentions, they say

The world will be better without evil.

Yet is it some times the very cross carrying,

Honorable, parishioner borne out of fear,

Might wield the weaponry of utter hate,

The rhetoric of painful prejudice begotten.

Pitfalls occur with anyone’s desire to change,

To make change, ask for change, demand change,

The local grocer suggests we use credit instead,

Yet it seems everywhere, fake news still relents.

I watched today with an ill heart the display

Of a humanity lost in the perils of bigotry,

Lost on themselves, lost on each other,

Drifting aimless in a world beyond reproach.

We might only reflect upon where we came

From in a society that once believed in love,

Today is seemingly hell bent on the otherwise,

The ability to act without a conscience so unwise.

Oh, to find love again – to breathe.

When In A State

I would if asked,

Suggest my world an easy one,

Though to the onlooker,

It may seem quite the opposite.

 

Depends upon the day,

I might quickly suggest,

Have I been, browbeaten again,

Or just left for dead, I’d want to guess.

 

I wish there might be a time,

Like the night I sat on the bench,

A curbside onlooker,

Watching the cars drift slowly past.

 

I remember there were so many,

None of which I probably knew,

Or if I did,

They’d certainly never agree to invest.

 

That quiet state of mind,

Where no one is generally allowed,

Except to surmise, pass judgment,

Thinking everything always the same.

 

The screams inside that patient,

Call to arms the proper time,

The explosive revelation sublime,

Defines our world a chaotic dream.

 

I would when in this frame of mind,

Wish the world around me blind,

For in the spotlight I feel exposed,

Wondered just how much my life is known.

 

And then I walk inside a crowded mall,

Mill about in a sea of eye contact,

When suddenly there appears before me,

Another human being, in a state of mind.

Being Real

Certainly, life is a challenge,

wake up to a peaceful sunlit morning,

compelled to go back to dreams,

life is waiting with a plundering notion,

at least,

that’s what a voice tells me,

when trying to ascertain,

getting a grip, get a grip, get a grasp,

we all do grapple with a sweet ideal,

when not met, forgotten,

when we seem oblivious to the plan,

whose plan, The Man,

yeah, the Man seems to drive our …

I woke up an hour later,

wondering how I had fallen into,

fallen off, fell forward, free for all,

landing in whatever state of mind I might choose.

Ugliness in Addiction and Recovery

If I could reach inside and rip out the pain that stops me in my tracks

I would do so and I let the ugliness drip off my fingertips,

because then I could choose to hold onto it,

or let it go, and watch it fall,

pull out the garden hose,

spray it into the soil,

until all around me I could see,

life is abundant, growing, and offers a peace,

a serenity.

The problem is sometimes addiction won’t allow a second chance,

we seem buried,

unable to get past the reality of our woes,

and even then, when we understand them,

we still fight for reasoning,

sometimes justifying,

this happened then, when, it was, because I wanted, it didn’t

really matter anymore to anyone.

I’ve been sitting in a chair today,

actually for days,

trying to get out,

but the vacuum hold is remarkable,

my body feels secure,

my mind is screaming,

as I look at the door, and realize,

it cannot stay open forever.

I wonder sometimes about real pain,

is it like this,

or is this just part of a visual game,

seems like I’ll never figure out a way to find the blockbuster,

instead, I’ll probably remain,

wishing purgatory could be

a safer place to be then I seem to realize.

What’s Really Happening

Ever wonder,

when you look them in the eye,

if their response

is a genuine effort to lie.

A mean-spirited man once said to me,

if you wait around, you die.

 

Ever wander

through a day and sigh,

just not sure how to complete a moment,

instead letting it pass,

by listening to the tick, a steady reminder,

of every lackluster effort

we decry.

 

Ever wonder,

what it is like to

find the answer

without actually recognizing why,

said the man,

to the other man,

who thought of the man,

to be lesser than

the Man.

Faces On Demons

Oh the (dark) places we go,

if only Dr. Seuss could remedy all,

perhaps the quiet abyss might no longer,

contain the strength,

the grasp sometimes

inherent in my every step,

the outlook of my day.

 

I sometimes wonder the strength of my addictions,

are the reason I move slowly,

perhaps in reason the justification

of lost principle,

allows me to wallow in my

sad and lonely way.

 

I’ve made mistakes,

they are plain to see,

unless you wouldn’t know me,

then maybe,

I could walk around in circles,

seem,

a bit more mistake free.

 

It is an inherent trait in our society,

to judge the person on your left and right,

in order some would argue,

to set your own demons free,

or am I only speaking of me.

 

I sometimes reflect on a world

of alcohol and drugs,

oh the sweet nectar

of setting myself apart

from every

symbol I felt of hope and faith.

 

The gambling arm,

set in tone the rest of me,

and for the little time I’d known,

I would seek refuge there,

only to come to terms,

with another bottle of scotch,

with an endless pour.

 

There is something remarkably beautiful

about peace,

peace of mind,

a peace to build our hopes upon.

finding peace,

inside the miracle of time.

 

I look to find all the faces,

that disturb my sleep,

in the middle of the night,

left staring at a wall,

rather safe than closing my eyes,

to once again,

know,

in the middle of a dream,

would there be an onslaught …

faces on demons.

 

We might suppose,

they’ll always be there,

quiet reminders,

like skeletons with favorite postures,

we liken them all,

to our own sheltered storm,

inside an expression at the county fair,

won’t allow a soul,

to imagine any other pain,

otherwise.

 

Occasionally when walking alone,

I do,

I choose with earnest,

to put my own,

face on demons,

I suppose it may appear absurd,

but rather than in a crowd,

I can own my own expression,

no longer under a shroud.

Why I’m a Racist…

“The beautiful thing about ignorance, though, is that it is easily remedied; but not without willingness and intention.”

So very well thought out and poignant. Thank you.

beyondtheglasswall

IMG_3037I am a white american male. I’m married to a beautiful blond-haired green-eyed woman and have two amazing blond-haired blue-eyed boys. I was a blond-haired blue-eyed child who grew up in suburban New Jersey in a solid family with a mother, a father, a brother and two dogs. I lived a life marked by opportunity and forgiveness; and while I may not have always had “much”, I have always had the benefit of the doubt. I was raised to treat everyone equally, regardless of race, or any other demographic for that matter. And while my town may have been predominantly white, I certainly didn’t grow up isolated from other races and cultures. But even with the upbringing and exposure I was blessed with, I’m probably still a racist. I don’t mean racist like a hate filled bigot who dehumanizes and devalues the lives of others based on skin color. I…

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