Large and unburdened
these hands show my true weakness--
spread across silken sheets
and the gentle touch will feel
as if desert sands were
wedged between the threading--
those threads do not breath as easy
as these hands of mine do.

They look and feel
as privileged as my ghostly appearance
would lead the World to believe--
even watermelons harden in the sun,
but these hands of mine
are closer to being ballet dancers
except they've never
had to learn to dance.  

They've never had to be successful
and I've been led to believe
failure was optional--
that with each attempt the World
will give me a do-over.  

Sometimes or maybe always
people eventually run out
of opportunity,
and instead they are left
with

...better luck next time.

Today there is no work to be done.
There is only rest
and the simplicity allowed
as the spaceman sleeps.

He dreams not of galaxies,
but the land and ocean
as he catches bass
down by the bay.

His peers worry
about opportunities missed
amongst the stars
as their astronaut
is calling in sick today.

He opens his eyes
and mumbles
about the plentiful
amount of fish and waves
the men down by the dock
get to catch each day.

I stand at the forefront
of human existence
and all that stands
is an empty vessel
of idealism
and missed opportunity.

A shallow mass
of pathetic selfishness
instead of selflessness;
a common mistake
of mixing words
that sound eerily too similar.

All the people
that stood here,
may become hardened
or maybe they never stood here at all.

Maybe they sat
at the center of the world
where they never crawled out of,
so they never saw all the beauty
or opportunity
that rested
right above their heads.

These are the burial grounds
for a peaceful existence:
one where equality lies,
still alive,
but buried so deep,
that it hides right outside of thought--
and each person mistakes
helping themselves
for helping the world.

Fantasy:
Imagination,
Magic,
Illusion,
Fraud.

These are the parlor tricks that
our mighty government
has sunken too
instead of creative linguistics.

Or a tapestry of  rhetorical philosophy
that is meant to persuade us
into their petition of ideology--
to understand their foundation for society
for how we live and prosper
as a nation united.

Instead we are beaten over the head
with misdirection and red-herrings
they willingly and happily use
slight of hand
so the people watching
can be mislead,
instead of asking tough questions.

They are sawing the news media in half
to delude you of their credibility
and showing you
compartments full of reflective mirrors
to hide the true emptiness
that lurks behind their lies.

Instead of being sick
I've chosen to be honest
and it's a simple exchange of words.

To take my mind and body
hand in hand or thought for thought
to bring them together
and understand
that I need to be healthy.

To speak philosophy and psychology
I will need to be an example
of health and a preacher
of true self respect--
that does not let sugary foods
and media persuade me
from my identity.

It is not by the grace
of a supernatural deity
that I come to improve,
or the supreme control of ulterior  motives,
nor world justice.

But the illusion of self control itself
that begets me to strengthen my core
to show--
that we are all beyond:
our basic habits,
worthy of salvation,
that all animals
if desired can become
more than our de-faults.

Corruption
is an overflowing
abundance of inadequate language.

As few will fathom
the misleading of those in lead,
and those who think they see
may be mislead;
even more than those who don't.

Our ends
are never the beginning
madmen are not our conquerors
but instead the folly of commoners.

It was our lack of a auspicious aptitude
that begets us to lament
even the foggiest of concepts
beyond our notion to conceive even simplicity.

It was only eager creatures
that  yearned for the world to be theirs
so instead of uniting the kingdom;
we were segregated into classes
and left without language to communicate.

Losing time is my specialty
as I am a nation of one
that has no people or land
that must be amassed.

To sustain myself is the simple tidings
that would hardly fit
even a wanderer stranded on a mysterious island--
one where the tide brings in
the luxury drinking water
and a plateau of shifting sands.

The subtly of time
is a puzzle to me that I hardly understand,
as it's pieces seem too difficult to place
having no matching parts
to put them together.

Time has no place in our minds
but is everyone's jigsaw
without it; we may become complacent
or at least that's what
we've always been told.