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 Apr 2015 M Crux Alexander
Chris
.

She collected sea shells
I collected sand
She searched for the perfect one
I reached down my hand

I carried a bucket
A basket she did whirl
Mine was filled with tiny grains
Hers with mother of pearl

She came out each morning
Me, just late at night
She adored the sunrise
I loved the moon light

Then one day it happened
My alarm clock didn’t ring
I woke to a rising sun
It was the weirdest thing

I ran down to the shoreline
My bucket in my hand
It’s then I saw her gorgeous face
While I collected sand

I found a perfect seashell
And watched her eyes grow wide
She held out her basket
I placed the shell inside

Then she reached down before me
And gathered in her hand
I held out my bucket
She filled it up with sand

And now each day and evening
We walk along the shore
She told me that she loves me
And her I do adore

So if you see us out there
Strolling hand in hand
Know...she’s collecting sea shells
And I’m collecting sand
Just for fun........
basic thoughts lead to basic things
eventually it turns into a circle

and our minds get trapped inside

I own everything
do you know what that means?
I am like a king
because I own everything

many wants lead to many needs
eventually, leaving you starving

it's like a mental malnutrition

I have everything
but I don't know what life means
to my things I cling
I have everything
 Apr 2015 M Crux Alexander
Chris
When is it ever fair to point a finger at a man with no hands?
Claiming to be an interested party but only shaking what needs to be shaken, proud as a peacock in one of those pieces about sand dunes and afterlife
And you clap, loud applause trying to prove a point…that you can, sneering at those who can’t
But what if they try, is that enough for you, making an attempt to be like you?
Or should they just close that door and draw the blinds
spending their days watching reruns of Ironside, wondering why it is okay for him to wheel around like nothing is wrong while they have to hide as you wave and snicker?

People are people, for the most part. Maybe different, but who isn’t?
Are you like the next guy or gal, the neighbor kid up the street
or the deli owner with the ketchup stained apron? Or are you different? I would hope you are you, with your own plethora of bumps and bruises, shattered egos and happy moments which you too want to share
We are all here, every one of us, if you weren’t you wouldn’t see this
and have the ability to act like you don’t

When is it fair to point a finger at a man with no hands?
I’ll leave that up to you, but don’t expect me to buy your shoes
when you have no feet.
And no, the person was not missing their hands.  I'm not sure if this makes any sense or not, but it helped the anger to be released from inside of me as I wrote it...sort of.
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