Every poem is puzzling
If an analogy
Is anything like an algorithm
And love is the highest
Form of flattery I know of
What a tragic destiny
To await life or death
With hesitance and reticence
When we are only rejected by uncertainty
And inner dissidents deny
Our few minutes of peace
What is an argument
But an even greater reason
To try to remain in contact
We are all articulate and lonely
So don’t deny these stories
Even if they seem crazy or boring
We can't explain away our haziness
And also rectify our kindness
After all it's a compromise
To decide who is right
Means also to lose faith
In the inner workings of the heart
If we are pertinent and perturbed
By lonely apathy and hurt
You can always question the quiet
You have become accustomed to at night
If we shut down our towers and our tables tops
We may get lost or turned around again
For often we are too proud to ask for help
So instead we become just like our furniture
And spend our lives building and/or buying houses
Destroying peoples lives in private
And making messes on our carpets
We are concrete and vision-less
While people of the earth are being burnt
And yet still don't return to hatred
They are sharing all that’s naked
As we slowly learn to grow
Towards love again