"inherantly" poems
Given a way into the sky,
I don't think I'd fly.
Why should I?
My legs would be useless.
Given a place way out in space,
I'm not sure I'd take.
The change it would make
On my body.
Oh the changes.
Heaven is peace, Destruction is fate
And both are the same,
Up in that place.
Nothing out there is inherantly bad
Only down here
Can destruction be sad.
Life is so precious,
Covet it so,
Then multiply and smother
The planet we own.
Noone cares but us.
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 9:59 AM UTC
There is no graceful transition
of a cup of hot hot coffee
from one hand to another hand,
the cup only has one handle.
It is inherantly akward,
almost as if it’s intended,
a brief, forced, colaboration
to keep the coffee in the cup.
Contorting to not spill a drop,
Still, clumbsy, after these long years
and a thousand repetitions,
ten thousand hot cups of coffee.
We angle ourselves to the task,
a brief intimate fumbling,
until the cup is handed off,
and the best part of it is gone.
-Still Here
Oct 27, 2024
Oct 27, 2024 at 4:05 AM UTC