I don't write of things of beauty even though I have seen it.
I don't write of things of joy even though I have felt it.
I don't write of happiness even though I have experienced it.
I don't write of hope even though I once trusted in it.
I don't write of love even though I have witnessed it.
I don't write of sense of purpose even though I once had it.
I don't write of companionship even though I knew it.
I don't write of trust even though I once could do it.
I don't write of belief though faith once made me see it.
I write of despair for once I knew them all.

Have you seen the mice all running, running in their wheel.
"Knowing" and "believing", what are delusions, to them is "real".
Rarely seeing other mice outside the wheel they're in.
Only time for thinking of keeping their own wheel on spin.
So happy and contented when they are spinning there.
So many trivialities that to them equal despair.
Keep the wheel a spinning, a spinning at a pace.
Never knowing that following circles just takes you to no place.
Mice ask me why I have no wheel and treat me as though I am lost.
I once did tread my wheel my delusions unable to sustain the cost.
Watching countless wheels without sense spinning on and on.
From beyond the wheel my delusions shattered, have now all gone.
Without a wheel there seems no purpose no reason to try and spin.
But once seen outside of wheels there seems no way to get back in.

I sometimes take time to write a few lines of verse.
Quite often to express feelings to prevent them getting worse.
Often I express things that are there as thoughts in my own head.
Sometimes its just things that I feel have needed to be said.
I don't always consider the impact or repercussions of things that I may write.
And I don't seek to make it all rhyme as a way for me to seem all bright.
I find it the best way to express how conflicted I can feel.
Inside my head it helps my thoughts focus on what I see as "real".
You may not understand the emotions or maybe share my train of thought.
But I will write how I think and how I feel even if against things we've all been taught.
Its my way of expressing "truths" that I just need others to try and see.
In part an explanation of why I cant be the way others would like for me to be.
I write these lines as often as I am compelled to want to do.
To give understanding and to express the things my mind perceives as true.
Whether challenge or expression of lies life has forced me to be taught.
I use the writing of these words to patch the walls of my emotional fort.
I write the verse as a glimpse beyond my fragile fortress wall.
I do it so all can see my sanity was dented by its fall.
There is little I can do about the glimpses you may choose to see.
Knowing that what you spy beyond the wall is not every part of me.
The words are how I perceive the world not to influence thoughts in your head.
But maybe...you have some understanding of me... from these words that now are read.

Beyond your own gloom.
Soulmates suffer silently.
There you find purpose.

Is life just a board-game dependent on some randomly thrown dice?
Are our lives as we see them or are we trapped like some fake mice?
Do we make our own way based on what we learn and know?
Or are we all just using time as we stumble onto "go"?
Do we ride on ladders taking paths we choose to make?
Or are we all just reaching to slide some fateful snake?
Are we just here to gather immense piles of materials and loot?
Or is that not just the most of all trivial of all pursuit?
Are we playing Ludo set on a board in which we roam?
And are all the other players just out to beat us home?
Are we but just players in an organized wordly mess?
Are we born to pawn or king on a battlefield of chess?
Perhaps you have had those times when you search for some life fix?
You roll your di as best you can but you just never roll a six?
Have you shared kind words with a friend going through life's crap?
And all the time your mind is thinking are we all just playing snap?
Is it all just winning at the ending of the day?
Or are important things the rules by which we choose to play?
Each seem on different boards as we struggle in the race.
No consistency of choice, in time, of hope, nor certainty of place.
What determines pawn or king as I stumble along my way?
And will I know if I'm fulfilled when my board gets packed away?

Sitting in a bowl of fruit
I hold a flower
Paint me with vivid colors
Make me look pretty
Or possibly as a reverent clown
With big floppy feet
In a contemporary return to classics
For the world to look and ask
"What did the artist mean with that banana, and why is that clown sitting on peaches holding a tulip?"


© 2019 MJL

im halfway between wanting to die
and wanting to drink more beer

which is the worse to fear?

something that will leave you dry
or something that will make you fly