Life Is Not A Ploy

Though there would be

immediate disagreement in one,

quiet satisfaction in another,

in the final hour,

one would realize if they did stop

to glance,

a world beyond their own device,

would, might

still exist,

and in that social fabric ignored,

a pain,

a fighting soul

whose rapture not found

might emulate

the sorrowful nature

of a discompassionate ploy.

 

Yes, simply a game,

beyond the reality of our terms,

defined by the human condition,

a banter of

despondent disregard

favors

only the regarded one …

or two, or three, or miles of more,

so difficult it is to understand

the lemings at my door.

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The Crying Gains

While the world continues unsettling staid values,

we seem to remain housed and hungry,

we value our gains to such a silly degree,

we forget there’s a world outside of our blues.

~

When I allowed my soul to breathe in deep wood

the smell of pine and wet moss aroused me

in Nature I do seek the attention of a free

mind that moves beyond the self loathing that would

~

bury my pale heart and cause me to then forget

how simple the leaves, how sweet buds hath

blossomed, deep in the forest away from wrath;

we may feel cleansed, less burden, less a target.

~

Look upon one another, please look for the smiles,

help them to be real, a genuine glee

if then that moment can be made free

then crying, the sudden rush of time speaks miles.

~

I stroll through concrete shadows, the lives we lead

in wonder of pain, while we seek some remains

of our integrity, character, these are my gains

if only there might be hope to cinder the greed.

~

My heart plays the rhythm without release

of the turmoil, the fear, the truth,

oh to understand then the ruth-

less nature, that human anomaly sans peace.