The main theme of this poem is um, triumph
So uh the secondary theme of this poem is defeat?
How could that be? Is that even what a poem is?
Is my life a song? Is this the ******* chorus?

Something crawls up from the drain through the ***** dishes and out of the sink. It grips me! It’s got me!

[This is the part I want to hide]

I saw a man so beautiful
Rarely is there ever a beautiful man--
a man so beautiful you want to kneel
and scream “You’re so beautiful!”
But instead I’ll worship him in the ways he insists:
by stepping aside on the sidewalk,
by laughing at the jokes he steals from me,
by squandering the money he pays me to do his job.

Is my life a song? Is this the ******* chorus?

It took me three to four years to learn
the difference between worshiping and begging,
between faith and belief
And now I have neither and engage in both and yet
My life feels like a free coffee and bagel
My life feels like an unwrapped candy bar
My life feels like a compliment from a stranger
My life feels like a birthday card with cash in it
Is my life a song? Is this the ******* chorus?

This is my once-yearly poem.
It’s like a broken perfume bottle at the bottom of my bag.
Look at it-- read it. Smell it.  Literal swill.  Most things make me feel sad, even more things make me feel threatened, especially this poem.
What is there to do but put my head in my hands?
What is there to say if not sorry?

Where do these words come from?
Are they from my heart or my brain?
Do the flow forth from some great vault hidden away in my soul,
Or are they plucked freely from the wind?

Where is it that our inspiration comes from,
From the world around us,
Or from within?
Can our natures influence the world around us,
Or is it that nature that influences us?

Why are so many poems sad?
So serious and full of melancholy?
Where are all the poems of puppies and socks fresh out of the dryer,
Those poems that fill you with glee?

I want those rhyming schemes filled with jokes,
That make you want to chuckle and stamp your feet,
That make you feel a bit happier,
That make you feel a bit of cheer.

I know that it all can't be kittens and rainbows,
But can we open the blinds from time to time,
To let natures beauty shine through to you and me?

Sometimes, such as on days like today
I sit and I mourn for my long-forgotten faith
I miss the certainty of a Most Divine Plan
Those self-assured speeches of a holy man
Assurances he speaks for the Ordained Track
Promises of a Supreme Being who's got my back
On these days when I wish, reminisce and long
I can't help but wonder where it all went so wrong

It's not that I Believe that There Is No God
Or even that I am unsure whether to believe or not
I don't bother questioning if god is real
For there is a bigger issue at play, I feel
When I became faithless, it was just in HIS eyes
"Faithless" I am not; there's just so much to surmise

I have Faith that the sun will warm each new day
I have Faith that these heavy clouds will give rain
I have Faith in the ground solid on which I stand
I have faith; just not Faith in the Words of a Man

See, I have come to accept that I soon will die
More surely, in fact, than the sun that may rise
Any day that sun may not appear
That day of darkness that we so fear
I accept that any moment May advent my end
I accept that there May be a sunrise just round the bend

With my flawed, weak powers of human perception
Dependent as they are on my senses' inception
I cannot Know a god, not many nor One
Just as I cannot Know that tomorrow will come

Maybe it will, and maybe there is
after all,
But truly--
who among us can Know anything
at all?

Often I find the days never-changing,
Doomed to repeat themselves.

I, Inescapable,
Like a moth to the dim blue glow of fluorescence.

To escape is one thing,
But, to watch friend and foe revel in their ignorance is another.


Like a feline sees the world through a sheet of glass,
I may be doomed to the same.

Every metaphor is a bridge
Connecting what's real to what's true
And only in crossing does one see
Both sides dyed the same hue

¡uʍop ǝpᴉsdn s,ʇᴉ ʍoN
punoɹƃ ǝɥʇ ssoɹɔɐ pǝlloɹ ʇᴉ ʇɐɥ┴
punoɹ os s,nʞᴉɐɥ ʎW


      nʞᴉɐɥ    
  nʞᴉɐɥnʞᴉɐɥ
nʞᴉɐɥ   nʞᴉɐɥ
  nʞᴉɐɥnʞᴉɐɥ
      nʞᴉɐɥ .....................

The shortest haiku
Is quite similar in length
To the longest one.