2005-03-21 - 6:53 p.m.
These times are hard on the optimist.
We who make choices to see the light through.
Never a heavier burden
to exist in the face of such sorrowful times.
A world in war
who knows better.
A link of chains that don't seem
to learn from past regressions.
A session of silence for senators
they mark up the future with habit and whim
A pressured state of recall and avoidance
the myth of reform has become a bore.
The factory worker straps on a bomb
collects his wages and blows his wad
Blood makes it into the new report
but only between stock-updates and documentary footage of whores.
Are we not all whores?
In one way or another. It can't be helped. The age we're in demands suppression of our most raw forms of thoughts. The truth can't bear its own witness.
The shovel starts in, new high-rise begins
rebuilding towers like a potion by an alchemist.
Humankind is on trial. Each country deficient and ridden by some great denial.
Can't we all start clean? Is that possible?
Not on the plane on which I live.
Second changes like stillborn babies.
Babies allergic to oxygen I once heard a man say.
A father for only brief seconds.
Before his child faded from
"cradle to casket"
It was so hard to grasp it he said.
He locked himself in the bathroom
and shot up whatever was in his hand
A small bottle from his wife's bedside.
She cried in the room without him.
And so it was that no child lives.
Except through determinable exceptions
and insurrections.
NO child truly lives anymore.
Only in terms of potential
and update and upgrade
the smarter ways we play them.
I'm asking what is a dream
if not an eternal curse
A wound that wound heal
refusal of cure
To keep the dull aching in sight
at-least if not because of entirely
the way it feels to reach
to reach for anything.
A baby inhaler. I wonder, do they now make them.
The father became an inventor
of stability and routine.
Muzzled side-projects and love affairs.
Kept his stare focused on paths in front of him.
But I sensed a change would take over this man.
I still feel that he was meant for a greater plan.
He agrees when there's time to adore such novelty considerations.
But most of the time he's just busy taking care
of those things he sees.
Not entirely out of sight , out of mind.
Close enough to be sharp as a razor's edge, though.
