You do not know me
the child who waited
patiently,
for you to see
our share humanity.

Little circumspect
floating speck
swirling in
the chaos.

I proffered
the words of prophets,
not a religious sect
but the heart set
in seeing
all the souls
who were pleading
for a better world.

You do not know me,
and as I slowly
recede
into infinity
you still will not
realize
my true divinity.

Not your ancient
or brand new
Muslim or Hindu,
gods,
not Christianity,
but the soul
in service
of humanity.

Can you feel the piercing pull
as the projectile runs you through
spitting splatter art
across the stone hearth?

Can you see the shattered hearts,
wounds wrapped in cloth
unable to stem
the tides of blood
that won't stay within?

Can you dream of the darkness
that others endured,
the struggles they pushed through
as they interred
the ones they love?

Can you look a stranger
right in the eyes
and without lies
tell him or her
that you care
and that they are heard?

Can you be kind
one time,
then another,
then another
till compassion
becomes
the path
that you run
around and around
in an almost infinite
circle of intent
till you are buried
in the ground?

Can you be
a decent
human being,
please?

It is not my blood
that wets the tattered rags,
soft skin
slowly paling,
mother loudly wailing
waking anyone near
to the agony
that other mothers
come to fear.

It is not my family
shattered,
blood splattered
buried under
tons of rubble,
and lost to
man-made devastation.

It is not my neighborhood,
my hood is real good,
safe and clean
no one hears a scream
cause there are no
military bombings
breaking down everything.

But these are my tears,
this is my fear
to hear clear
the horrible pain
of those that
my leaders claim
deserve to be hurt.

It is not my country,
but they are all my people
and if I am a decent human being
then I must share these things
bare these thoughts
bring these words
so, all can see the cost
of inhumanity.

We live in comparison,

When I compare my self
to wealthy men,
I find my fortunes
sadly lacking.

But if I look back
at the shadows closing in
all that human suffering
all those souls living
without compassion,
the dark nights passing
every sad circumstance
every tragic dance
of death and gore
that came before;

If I am keeping score
of the ratio
of smiles to terrible tears,
of poor to prosperous years,
of those gone
and those family and friends
who are still here.

It is very clear
that I am doing **** fine.

Witness
the witless
swimming in
the driest
wetness.

sinking in
solid ground,
making the loudest
silent sound,

master of mundane
wearing hats
to make hate
great again,

artists who perform
the opposite of
the art form
attempting to reform
that which needs
no rebirth
just the freedom to grow
in whatever direction
the art has earned,

metaphors
of madness
thinning
to fatness,
as I slurp up
all the sick stuff
humanity
has been brewing.

I do not have cancer
or malignant tumors,
causing me to double over
in irregular
bouts of agony.

I have a job
and make enough
to buy healthy food
and some other stuff.

Never been
sent to prison,
and I got
a decent
education.
Plus, I get
two weeks’ vacation.

I do not have to
pick up and walk to
somewhere
hundreds of
miles away
just to be safe
from some
sick warlord
or hateful horde
of horrible soldiers
who want to ****** me
and my family.

I may not be
super wealthy
but compared to
most of the people
in other countries
I’m living pretty large.

I am the fortunate one.

Nice to get your dreams
see ambitions fulfilled
be thrilled
by what you achieved.

So, you're finally
respected and
recognized,
literary dreams
realized
because
you inspire
the masses.
They talk about you
in college classes,
and strangers
ask you to sign
the books you write.

So, success
could be defined
by wealth acquired
by the things you desired
finally becoming
stationary place holders
in your household.

So, your health
and physique
finally match
the muscle mass
and bodyfat
percent that
you wanted.

All the hours
you put in
to getting
the great win,
and as you
look around
you will see
friends and family
growing old
and becoming deceased.

Was it worth it?

Now in the new year
Hope it's a good one
and peace reigns across the planet
Too many wars
and rumours of war

There's movement afoot.
Occupants and sycophants
Are scattering
From the Rainbow Rooms
To the more concrete setting
Of the Oral Office,
Where the North and South Porticos
Admit the transients
Behind the secure cement walls
Of the Skinners.

Straddling a yesteryear and a new tomorrow
facing many challenges, holding onto triumphs

We hold our breath ready to say goodbye
and open our arms wide with a welcome hello.