… in fact, most souls are nameless,
if lucky, one enters into hertz …. many live bereft of self, an alien in a
foreign land, an estranged survivor. existence has a nimbus, but she stands
aloof, one might court her an entire existence. pockets filled with petals,
problems, and passion. many to roam regions. many to remain still. many running
on a treadmill. as in one space, split in halves, our thoughts adrift like
confetti. winds of courage infused by justice launched into indifference.
by a creek two miles south of a
lake sits happiness with a padlock. assert a combination, most numbers fit,
many see but one solution.
some become birdwatchers, others
become ventriloquists, many live passive destructions.
a viewpoint is formed in mud,
pulled out and rinsed, others consider me different. (is it because it hurts to
sense an absolute, a man is trespassing, or we need to see humans a certain
way?) maybe it seems unreasonable, pain is relative, or existence isn’t
intrinsically suffering? most might argue for mindfulness, this is agreeable,
but training is required to think accordingly – plus, hardwon application. art
sees depravity. minds are gateways. most overpass human physics.
polish a child and he shall
flourish even surpass his challenges.
most are waking up in a
predicament, a human condition, where one is promised resistance. women are
born to a war, a difficult clock, where some become ruthless. (it was last
year, I met a different creature, mirrors have never been of much interest to
her.)
many are bungee jumping, dependent
on a rope, sensing this is existence.
one would be remiss to omit pure beauty
in essence: by hopes in a child, by love for a spouse, by dedication to a
career. more information might change us, might cause deeper inquiries, might
awaken us from a feeling of unknowing.
