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,
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 …
we are all in lock-step,
trying to own the sensitive lift,
a spiritual sojourn,
the perfect gift.