Grasping
Grasping at
the sky,
be it
blue, or gray.
Love still
spans across
moody clouds,
in a
special way.
The meadows
are green,
as the fields
are browned,
as gravity and
heavy dew,
bind me
to the ground.
I continue
to be awed,
at this
space I occupy.
Could not
change, or
alter it,
no matter
how hard
I try.
suckers who
need it—
Who have
never had it—
Who have
looked for
it in the
bottom of
every glass—
In every
whorehouse—
In the desperation
of their hearts—
In trembling
dark rooms.
Is it “better
to have loved
and lost
than never”….?
F--k Shakespeare!
He needed a
better ghost writer.
‘Tis true we all
need something…
but what?
Let he whom
possesses it…
name it.
Show me the way:
To the bookstore—
The art gallery—
A child’s heart—
To a clean bathroom—
Sane government—
Unconditional love—
The quill and ink—
Free coffee—
To stop animal cruelty—
To go home—
To serenity—
Of all flesh.
Tell me about:
Courtesy—
Empathy—
Fairness—
Justice—
Honesty—
Hatred—
Selective selection—
Inherit racism—
Religious hypocrisy—
Good people—
This too shall pass—
We will survive.
As the lights grow
dimmer, it becomes
vastly more difficult
to show and tell
any of the afore listed.
(This is written, not out
of cynicism, but sadness.)
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