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 May 2017 Brian Goosen
A Psalmist
It's been two weeks
He says it's felt longer
I ask how he's been
He says he didn't think it'd be this hard
I ask what's the hardest
He says putting the phone down
When he feels like calling Mom
Forgetting she's no longer around
To answer
Be thankful for your mother today, because there are so many who aren't celebrating mother's day for the first time.
Constantly dreaming. Yet, my body continues working like a machine, keep the pistons steaming and clean.

One day we will awaken to the reality of it all, and take one giant leap for mankind, yet still so small.

When will we learn that our minds are the true source of work, not the hours of constantly bending and scooping filthy pounds of dirt.

While necessary and a dream to some, working for them ignores the membership to the new Country Club, but a fight for chances to escape hell, their homes, the slum.

We take for granted how easy we have it, sitting behind our constantly evolving superficial habit, chasing pre-determined dreams so we will Just Do It, even if we must illegally grab it.

I hope for a day when work aiding the greedy is no longer, and we can finally concentrate on the true goal of developing our world and mind together.

Without the ****** conflicts, what will slimy men above do? They will shake at night in their beds, worried to death that their defeat is in the population's collective heads

Knowledge is power, and power in this century is undefined; materialistic riches lose their value quickly when you can create things with your mind.

Open the floodgates to creativity, and finally use the power of connectivity. We must step up, and stand together, when we begin developing the future for our new century.
I want to write a love poem
The best the world has ever seen
About two shattered people
Fitting together at their broken seems

I want to write a love poem
That no one can forget
About two lonely people
That where a perfect fit

I want to write a love poem
That transcends past the stars
About two cosmic bodies
That's not imprisoned behind broken bars

I want to write a love poem
So great no one has ever known
Of two tattered spirits
That clung to each other and the love they shown

I want to write a love poem
That can survive any storm
About two people with icicle hearts
That true love burned bright and warmed

I want to write a love poem
But alas that I can not do
For I have never tasted love
So I have not a single clue
Is maturity a thing,
as we wither old?

Do we really learn our lesson,
and finally do as we are told?

I do not.
I refuse.
I will be smart and taught,
yet gleefully confused.

Never content,
never sold.
Always enthused,
and always boozed.

Life can't be seen as seriously real,
as we are all just playing a living game.

We can pierce our own Achilles heel,
or stand tall to pronounce all you overcame.
So this is the end
The bitter conclusion
No playing pretend
Maintains this illusion

Distance is dread
Time equates fear
Hope hung by a thread
Now we find ourselves here

Giving up we accept
Giving in we agree
To allow disconnect
To set ourselves free

Nights of constant regret
Days of endless rain
Bring forth the onset
Of perpetual pain

One last time we shall stare
Into fading hope eyes
One last time we shall share
Such heartbroken cries

So now it has ended
We sever accord
This love we have tended
Now dies by the sword
Holding on tight to the things we love,
Never to fly away and become history like a romantic dove.

If we lose what is close we feel broken inside,
When in reality we are fighting with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

Never fear the unknown and go into the darkness,
Holding onto materialism until you see a sky that is starless.

Don’t be blinded by greed and power,
True happiness lies in greener pastures.
Internal happiness to avoid third party disasters.
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