In all endeavors I seem to find
There is an eternal internal bind
Of which I create and then I crave
From which I cannot hope to escape

From where does fulfillment originate?
Is it not enough to live without hate?
Can anything be done without regret?
What sort of constant is this threat?

Leaving a room though physical action
Cannot be done without wishing for retraction
I should have said that, I should have done this
Does the right sequence of events even exist?

Why must the choices I make contradict
Every last desire and every last wish
That I ever formulate inside my mind?
It seems that this struggle is one of a kind

I don't know how to really be sure
Or definitely good, positively pure
Will I ever do something and say it's right?
Tantalizing me are my endless lost fights

In today's world religion can be hard
To tackle since so many view it as barred
Away from the world like the poor dying man
People avoid as best that they can

But what is the price of being uptight
About suppressing the essence of life?
Why is it so that it can be so wrong
To speak of the motives that guide us along?

Religion is not just a vast collection
of various mythical origin legends
Religion is the root of motive and desire
Religion is wood, humans are fire

So how can it be that the absence of thought
Is how some are marketed after they are bought
Into a title that simply describes
A lack of connection to open blue skies?

How can it be so, that siblings can fight,
Over which one is wrong and which one is right,
When in the end the real problem is
A lack of empathy for hers and for his

Where does it say that you have to sign up?
Why do I have to drink from anyone's cup?
What prevents me from creating my own?
What prevents me from being alone?

Why do you look down upon me so,
For having not only courage to say no,
But to say no and also be self-assure
For my essence is pure, and so is yours

Question not the names and titles
Question not the idol or idols
Question not those who dare to walk alone
For it is from the same cloth that we are all sewn

Question not the small details
That can breed such conflict, but to no avail
Question not the symbols or form
Question not those who deviate from norms

Question attempts to segregate
Question any actions fueled by hate
Question your mother, question your father,
Question your friends if you dare bother

Question anyone who you care for
Religions are doorknobs and humans are doors
For it is religion that truly precedes
The philosophies carried by you or by me

So question your friends, go on, it's ok
Hopefully the world will reach a day
Where religion is the opposite of a taboo
Where religion is recognized as what makes you

So question the motives, question desire
And most importantly, question those who set fire
To other's religions, to other's homes
Violence is never the answer

I once had a dream that changed me.
Not only was the dream pivotal and perplexing
The dream altered who I was as a man.
My whole life I later found was artificial
In the sense that I was trapped in a body
And the body was trapped in a cycle.
After exiting my vehicle one Wednesday afternoon
I was homebound and I don’t remember much
And then the dream began.
I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t.
All I remember was how I felt in that moment
There were feelings around me that entered me somehow
Happiness, fulfillment, and spirit
It was a state of tranquility and nirvana
There was music playing, I just saw things I loved
Did things I wanted to do, I was myself forever
But the strange part of this dream
Is that it never ended.

This is a poem I am writing for all of the clouds out there who drift lazily through the sky on the dream of short-lived lives.
For the dogs who run around having no long term goals or dreams.
How I envy all of the simple existences that I see around me constantly.
When you are a person in today's modern society, it seems as if it is inevitable to lead a troublesome life, what with things like Facebook, Photography, and Freedom.
So what does this contradictory word complexity even symbolize in the miracle of the English language?
Complexity is the person who you love, and all of the feelings and thoughts that they provoke.
It is the red door, that stands for so much more, in that book that your English teacher tried to explain.
Complexity is the idea that by virtue of being accustomed to modern life, we have the determination to overlook the simple things in life...but that is kind of complicated.
Once we all learn our own primary language, the mind naturally expands to things like thoughts, feelings, ideas, hopes, desires, and all of these are accented by feelings.
So what is simplicity?
Simplicity is the formation of birds that are migrating south.
It is the sound of grass in the wind, the taste of water after a hot day.
As complex beings, we naturally strive to find simple things, because after a while, the complex thoughts expire.
But people love being complicated, so much that they try to find intricate patterns in the simplest things; even in death.
Although most people have the intellectual capacity to think complicated thoughts, that should not prevent them from loving the simple things in life.
What is lucky about our flexible minds is that we are allowed to decide what is simple and what is complex.
For example, a spider's web. It is a beautiful creation made of silky, withstanding string that latches on to any small piece of matter it can find. The web is the spiders shelter, it helps it to sustain life and to put bread on the table, or dead bugs as the case may be.
On the other hand, a spider's web is its home. The spider has one simple purpose in life, to survive off of the web. An existence with one goal, objective, and dream, to create a web is simple in a most beautiful way.
Being allowed to make anything in life, including life itself, as simple or as complicated as we like is without a doubt one of the most amazing powers we possess as human beings.
When encountered with presentations of pure beauty, I have begun to try to keep them simple in my mind, for the sake of trying to embrace the beauty for what it is, be it a colorful sunset, an undefined relationship, or the red door that doesn't stand for anything more.
So next time you go to think about something and make it your own, think before you think.

Trapped inside this cold small place
Alone with thoughts and feelings
And within my mobile prison, I have now been ensnared
In a more literal prison, a place with frigid air

How can it be, I can never be free
Of the memory of pain and regret
When I get out, I'll run about
But I have not left yet

Sometime in the distant future
I'll be given another chance
At trying to lead a real life
Hold the average societal stance

When I escape, I'll fly away
And find somewhere to hide
I won't be back, but I'll still have
These feelings behind these eyes

Once long ago, there was a place
Too comfortable to recall
I felt at ease, and I could see
An open door next to a wall

But in this cold reality
The door only opens when
The rulers choose to come about
And free me from my pen

I've been waiting here for such a long time,
inside this waiting room, inside my mind.
I'm sitting alone, I wait for my turn,
While all the while, my suppressed heart burns.

The woman at the desk sits with no fear,
She knows who I am and why I am here
Neither she nor I knows why I wait
but I have an advantage, I believe in fate

Although I am waiting, I know not what for,
I know not what lies beyond that door.
I dream it is happiness, tranquility, and peace,
but perhaps it is just the lair of a beast.

I'm chained down to my chair, but I never fight,
I'm only a prisoner of my own device.
Why do I wait, why can't I run free?
I need that door, it's become part of me.

So yes, I'll wait, until the room ends,
since it's in my mind, on me it depends
I will wait in this room as long as I can,
wishing all the while to be a real man.

Life is a race
There is no first place
There are frequent breaks
And plenty of mistakes

In the rush if events
There is too much suspense
What does the future hold
I hope it's not cold

The finish line gives out the same prize
There are different ways that people arrive
But in the end, everyone dies