The day my eyes opened to the true life that I live was not the day most call birth

My minds true birth into this world came through my realization of what God truly is

God is love, love is light, and light is me
And I will forever more be a small light of God on a huge spectrum of the magnificence that is this world

When you find the light and love of God in yourself, you then find the light and love in others

You can look at someone and see their light shining within their soul

And finding true love is just the realization that the person you are looking at is not only a wonderful and beautiful life in itself but also that their light is nothing more than the exact reflection of your light as well

Once you have come to that realization, then you will realize that your love and the light of your life was never in question, only that you had yet to see it for yourself

And the light that emits itself from the both of your souls combined is what keeps the world turning, and the wind blowing

It's the brightest light that you may ever come to see

The truest love, in the truest form to be witnesses by the hearts that have opened themselves up to such a light will bask in it's wonderful rays and praise it

...because that love is nothing more that God in his most beautiful form

I step inside and get in line.
The first thing that catches my eye is a sign that reads: Subway issues codes for a free cookie as a thank-you for completing a survey. Ask a Sandwich Artist for details.
I think to myself, “Sandwich Artist?” You gotta be ******* kidding me.
Who is this ultra superior, ******* that is responsible for this?
Why can’t we accept our job titles for what they are?
We always need to jazz things up so we feel a little more important and less-judged,
but we become more inferior with this kinda ****.

Society is a mind ****.

There are two sandwich artists behind the counter, and one is rambling on about her birthday that is in a few days.
She is SO excited.
Standing to her left is another artist, masterfully creating a sandwich for the gentleman in front of me.
She closes her eyes and replies to her partner with great wit, “Hold a second - I’m throwing you a party right now in my head.”
She opens her eyes, and our eyes unfortunately meet.
Son-of-a *****!
This is making me really uncomfortable.
It’s taking all of my might to not give her what she is clearly hoping for - a smile.
I do.
****, I'm a *****.
The gentleman in front of me doesn’t hear a thing.
He is too busy to notice.
Look at that perfectly, tailored suit.
He must be important.
Mr. Important’s index finger is tap-dancing all over the screen of his fancy phone.
He sure likes his phone, but don’t we all these days?
Technology is the ****, and we are the ******.
But not me!
I have a flip phone.
Yup.
I bought it for $29.99 three years ago.
The salesman pulled it out from storage, and the box had dust on it.
He looked at it as if it was an ancient artifact.
It is.
And I bought it…

It hasn’t been more than a minute, and Miss Birthday Girl starts to ramble some more about her party.
The witty artist closes her eyes and replies,
“Hold a second.  I’m throwing another party for you in my head.”
You’ve gotta be ******* me…
What a redundant swine.
I turn my head to the right and look at the lively advertisement of Coke’s product, Fuze.
It’s a pretty sign for what it’s worth.
I just stare at the **** thing and act as though I haven’t heard her ******* comment.
I continue gawking at the word, Fuze.
My eyes gaze over to the accompanying graphic of a sweaty bottle of some ambiguously-flavored iced-tea.
I probably look like someone who is easily distracted by shiny, vibrant things.
Or someone who is REALLY thirsty and is going to buy me some of that Fuze.
But I am not thirsty at all…
Just angry.
However I do want a large cup to fill, so I can fill it with Fuze and toss it in her face.
With that thought, I figure it is be best for me to leave.
So I head for the door and exit.
I had parked my vehicle across the street, and as I walk towards it, her voice endlessly
repeats in my head.
I sit down in my seat, noticing a plastic bag of dried apricots tucked in the cup holder.
I open the bag, and there are only six left.
Five remain stuck to the bottom as one plops into my palm.
I put the one in my mouth; the flavor is to be expected as well as the texture.
The chewy consistency reminds me of cartilage.
This must be what it feels like to eat an ear.

A small ear, maybe even a lobe.

Nonetheless an ear.

Now for dessert! Xanax.
I unscrew the top of the little, red, metal container that I carry with me at all times -
like a devout Catholic with her rosary.
I place one tab on my tongue, the sweet tang a perfect complement to my lunch.

Maybe, just maybe, I don’t need anti-anxiety pills any more.

Maybe I just need a new phone like the rest of the world.

Na…**** that.

there will be no sounds,
the road is lonely tonight,
travelers will stay off the
asphalt ways, the blackest
                           of nights
                                       will not be pierced
                     by headlights
animal eyes will not be bright
spots appearing to float lightly
to escape, in the darkness,
no engine noises will echo in the trees,
and cause mothers to gather their young
and tell them in animal voices why
no one is allowed to go out after dark
        even for a family walk to the park,
        across the treeless way
            where they can play
       with garbage cans' contents,
       but rather stay in and be content,
       with the gathering of fur with breathing
      in the still air, restful sounds and a
       peace to be shared with care and oh,
      but there will be darkness that hearkens
      sleep with dreams of play, teeth flashing,
      rough fur rising along the spine,
                  just don't cross that line,
                                               and leave the nest alone tonight,
                                   for even the darkness has teeth that bite.


©DWE112013

People on the streets
Parents working second jobs
Trying to make ends meet
Savings depleting as prices rob
Mothers' seek cheapest cuts of meat
Politicians out to make wealthy richer
As if that were the answer to division
Between those that have not a pitcher
Or bowl large enough to catch false vision
Of milk and crumbs that never trickle down
From those who have and care not
For those whose voices have no sound
While criminals get three squares and a cot

r  3 Nov 13