We figured life was rough, determined to change, like one person isn’t enough. We forsook defeatist talk, embraced fervor & fever, in part, too naïve.
Daunting persistence, epic addiction, epoch frustration, we debate on what colored means: different sects, casual or un-casual, together or separated?
Ideals come with disappointments—refined ideas, nearly chiseled into invisibility—this is life.
We imagine being chaste, if to answer existence, most heartbreaking essence; harrowing indeed, humility a plus, suffering made mandatory.
Show me contentment. I’ll show you gray matter.
Ceilings are immortal. Caricatures & cartoons—this is life.
Show me peace. I’ll show you hard work.
I’ve never met a completed person. I would magazine
existence, filled by empty space, unaware of what fastidious means.
I praise easiness: family, career, compassion, & spiritual practice, a life.
To live for it—to die for it—to have worth in it; to look at it, to have a sensei, to adore parent & teacher nights.
Show me contentment, & I’ll not dig.
Academia & religion have infused our existential.
Many millwheels. Many masks. A dangerous line.
In loving one—we presume a few things: consumption, meaning, completion.
Gates & walls, despite beauty, fretting life, structured by solicitudes.
I can’t remember each picture, as it influenced me, where life was romantic;
to have existence, those raving skies, those kites on high; to know life is good, to have for example, a most wonderful palm.
We knew wisdom, we knew a little rain, we knew a little discipline, we knew errors, punishments, harder lessons.
I’d imagine at different degrees life is similar for most folks. We’ve experience as commonality.
Although we feel alienated.
