Once you've sat at Wisdom's feet
and heard her teach the Truth
Light's unbearable and dark
and Teachers most grievously painful

For there is no error in the plumb line
Any tilt and crookedness is exposed
Every hearts' wickedness and deceitfulness
cries out and stinks as dead men's sores

What should I believe?
How should I perceive?
How should I receive
the ones who deceive?

Both sides like to lie
Where I am the "Bad Guy"
And no one turns an eye
To when bad ones pass by

How can I tell what is true?
Also, what else can I do?
So many thoughts are askew
Please, will there be a breakthrough?

There are too many opposing sides
With these concrete, airy divides
Where the lies need not any guides
And where the devil comes and hides

It has been like this for all of time
Where generations study and mime
Where these acts of maleficence climb
Is there no end to this heinous crime?

My hope is that they will say what is real
When a lie is told, it is a big deal
That they should not stand around, they should kneel
But this is just what I think is ideal

For I just want the wheels to start to spin
And in this long battle, truth will come to win
And the slimy serpent snake will shed its skin
Show off its beauty that was hiding within

I hope I have made my point incredibly clear
And that I have helped you conquer this scary fear
To help yourself, your family, your friends, your dear
To take the great leap onto this empty frontier

Mirrorball - “the fabrication of our performance”

a life long struggle to accept who I am,
of course, lose, and lose again, and
the fabrication of our performance now
inherent in every excuse and mirrorball
revolving asking, no, laughing, at our
vanity, as we endeavor, enabled by the
paucity of ego, the neediness of weakness’s
to catch, keep, hold each single flickering
light spot in our open, slick palms forever

we fabricate our performance of daily living,
modifying our measurements to match output,
only a human cannot wake only to fall within
each daily tabulation without thinking, once:

I am a hero, worthy of acknowledgement, just
look at my hands! see how many spots of
light I can claim as mine! the mirrorball turns
and turns paying no mind to the worshipers
below, until some sorrowful fool confesses,
fools fail, fools fail, turning the dervish off,
the white flag of ego darkened, once more...

we are all false poets, false prophets, occasionally confessing



7:34 AM
Sat Jul 18
The Year of the Virus, Corona

The meaning of growing up,
Perhaps lost in translation
I never realized what it meant,
To lose your innocence
And the feeling of playing catch up,
When the train had left the station.