The raindrops that fell
against the window this morning
were in perfect sync
with the coffee drips that fell
into my cup.
Down on the sidewalk,
a man in a suit and a woman in a dress
scurried along under an umbrella.
I watched for them to march in lockstep,
but it never happened.
Sometimes we thirst for the simplicity
of order,
and other times we quietly celebrate
the chaos.

A lot of **** goes down on sidewalks.
The most desperate souls
sell their bodies and their spirits
for a little bread that only leads
to temporary solutions, escapes
from everlasting problems.
They seek what they will never find,
peace within the landscape,
among the masses who profit
from their predictable failures
and untimely deaths.

On Sundays,
most people go to brunch with family
or take walks to lazy coffees shops
to meet with friends.
Some of us gaze out windows
to dream the dreams
we can only dream
away from the distractions
that rule our lives.

In the meadows of the countryside,
we're hypnotized by the stars
and the mysteries of the cosmos.
On the sidewalks in the city,
we're hypnotized by the lights
and the mysteries of human dynamics.
No matter where we stand
when we gaze upwards
there's always space for imagination
and wonder.

A man goes to work.
He sells his skills, his talents,
his ******* soul.
He pounds sidewalks, rides on buses,
flies on planes, and he drives in endless traffic.
The working man sacrifices
day after day
for his family.

On his own, that man will game the system,
he’ll do what he must
to scrape by on his own.
Dress codes, schedules, bosses, labor,
he puts up with forced servitude
out of the purest form of love
for his woman and his children.

On a few special days
that mark the working man’s life,
he deserves the best food and drink,
the devotion of his woman at his side,
and he deserves the companionship
of his closest allies.

Violence,
much like hopes and dreams,
the search for truth
and justice,
is not pursued solely by the mad.
Sometimes, the most mild-mannered person
walking down the sidewalk
can no longer absorb
the constant onslaught of attacks
doled out by life,
and suddenly,
the gun, the knife, the bomb,
they make a lot more sense.

There's a beauty that emerges
within those who have the courage
to break with conventional thinking.

The worker who finally tells off the boss,
no one owns him.
The **** who ignores the shaming,
she enjoys being enjoyed.
The father who embraces his gay son,
his career status be ******.

That flicker of confidence
in the eyes of those who awaken
to their truths
is living art, a gift
that each of us
can experience.