Month: August 2014

This version.

My story
seems pretty awesome
when I find myself
telling it
to others
(often in segments
divided
over many sessions).
They listen,
with keen attention
and remark
at how unique
and fascinating
my back-story
is.
But to have merely lived it,
for it to be
simply my own…
it seems dull
and pedantic.
I want to be engaged
in the life
the listener thinks
is mine.
This real version
is just not
as exciting.

Respirate

Brother, so often at odds,

competing for something

where no prize

resides.

Then

that conflict

has an outside threat,

an unneeded third-party.

Then the river of time

and souls

reconnects us,

flows again,

and unites our causes.

Do not flag,

do not release.

Our conflict buried

and issues extinguished,

it is no matter for us.

I beg you,

live.

Outrage mitigation

We will notice it
(well, at least
one
or two
of us will).
That person,
or group,
will foment concern
And we will look up,
worried.
We will wonder,
“what must we do,
how must we proceed?”
And,
after many years
of hand-ringing
and social brow-beating
we will do nothing…
nothing.
We will acquiesce…
it will become the norm.
Our fears will be assuaged
by the cooling balm
of time
and routine.
We will forget
that we ever had
any concern
at all.
We will laugh
at those who feared it,
once.
Laughter,
laughter
with our heads
buried in our phones,
our t.v.
our media,
our social…
well, our social distractions.
We will adapt
and move on.

Landscape

I saw a poster

of a far-away landscape

affixed to a fence

on a large plot of land

under development.

The picture bore no resemblance

to the nearby city

and its surroundings.

I found myself

filled with an uneasy melancholy.

What if that desert landscape

could be real,

here

in this city

right now?

That far away sun-set

and those cacti

so close

as to be reachable….

It made the city seem vibrant

and exciting.

Then only the chain-link fence

and the rubble remained

as I drove past…

and I was depressed

again.

Feedback

I hear my own voice,

returned to me

through a recording,

and I hate myself.

I hear my own words

as another might

and I feel sorry

for who I am…

This is very sad,

if you think about it,

because the rest of the world

has to hear me

as I am

continuously,

but I am only forced to do so

occasionally.