Some have a hard time in drawing
From the experience that life has given
Always in need of help whether bold or pastel
In interpreting the art of living

Being a sign of the times in grand design
Trying to hang the picture perfect life
As they're craving their niche or taking brush strokes to it
A happy medium they have yet to find

Not patient enough most just give up
At the opening of their life's museum
With empty frame that bares only a name
In interpreting the art of living

Thanks to Hello Poetry for the recognition of the Daily for Mid-age Graduate.
Thanks for all the support from fellow poets .
JRap.

my ego so easily constructs
     a fantasy
in which you, my favorite reader,
       t
           r
       i
           p
over my words and fall into
a wonderland
     with me

a single small s  p  a  c  e
between the blackness of
     these letters
and you fall into my fantasy
where we relish in
     our fetters

we forget to climb back out
as the passion starts
     to mount

we lose our minds with pleasure
hands and mouths
     d      i
           s      c
                 o      v
                       e     r
                             hidden treasure

the words that you pour out
my own that you soak up
leave us beggingpleadingscreaming
till our keyboards
light back up

The television blinds us from seeing
the real ways of the human being
it only brings falseness to our minds
these are such troubled times

leaders speak of peace, while killing
those words are only filling
convicted of their human crimes
these are such troubled times

preachers preach, but ears won't listen
there's something gone, something's missing
so many caught up in life's binds
these are such troubled times

So strange how language can fall apart
Like pieces of a broken puzzle,
Double sided and colored by
Trust or lack of it,
Love or fear
Strange is a word
All perceive from a window
Of their own unique bubble
So when peering outside we are still
Split atoms of a mass
That has no certainty
It ever existed