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It’s misty
today--cold, windy, wet.
These are the days I feel like the
sky;
Flat
and undefined, absent of color.
All the worries
in life and the insecurities
Seem to disperse over me evenly.
And like the rain blanketing over a
window;
Vibrating and abstracting my vision,
I attempt to swipe a clearing with
Brighter ideas and ideals.
A sidewalk
artist,
rubbing and chalking his bright pastel colors;
Over and over
A dirty grey
surface in that rain;
And watching the color bleed and
wash away
Into the sewer as if to be swallowed
By the darker
and dirtier street.
And my deep
underneath is swelling;
A rain storm growing in a single
pair eyes;
A kid-size amount of questions
begin to
Seep into those raindrops,
Ready to pour forth in feisty
naivety.
Is happiness just makeup
Covering the ugliness beneath;
Complacency, distraction--
Washing away on a day like this to
remind me
Of my mortality, of my failures and missteps,
Of the world and
all of it’s sewers.
Or is it a seed
to be dropped in a landfill;
Changing from the inside out--
A desert flower growing through
Broken
seams of an abandoned tank?
Is comfort part
of a greater whole;
An atom inside the molecules of
life;
Ones
and zeros orchestrating the last
Reproduction of
the Mona Lisa?
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Perhaps if my thoughts possessed a machine;
Memories
copied and pasted
With no human dreams or emotional
error?
Will I still hurt those different and poison
the Earth
For profit, for bankers, for Gods?
No need for possessions, expression or self;
Or
feeling the touch of people;
No longer saying, “I
love you”.
Will my absence change peoples minds;
Will it matter the seeds of happiness
That were mine?
When I die and lose hue like the ceiling of
Storm clouds,
Will my shape simply change form
Like the
drops that fall and give rise
To small streams~
Flowing and drawn together;
Growing into large
rivers?
No more questions! Just momentum;
Feverish kinetic strength to carve canyons;
To wash
away toxicity and pollution;
The right
kind--human intervention,
Human greed and human
persecution,
The ugliness underneath, the absence of
color.
Strike me human brother!
Return me to
the earth
So that I might be cured of my
consciousness.
No more questions, only purpose.
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