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Fairy Tales Aside
There is nothing to write anymore in this world of:
I hate you, you hate me,
and we abide in cacophony.
So we hide behind the smoke screen
of someone else's
words, words, words.
Pretending we do not see,
we do not hear,
we do not know what it is that envelops
and devours the little energy we create
with sleep and caffeine
and more sleep.
Each of us watches the center drop out of our tiny worlds
with a blink or a twitch
as we stand disconnected
pretending to understand delirious pain
or heart wrenching joy.
Then with guilt of inaction
we take up arms against the worry
and attempt to defend right.
But it is ever changing
diminishing
evolving
into something else
that is no longer what we thought we were fighting for
but some mutated jealous tendency.
That is the fallacy of being nothing more than human.
We are taught to expect love and beauty to fall easily into our laps
like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
But they never tell you a rainbow is circular and has no end.
So we keep looking disgusted and annoyed
by the almosts and could've beens that clutter our path.
Ignorant of the possibility of allowing something unplanned to blossom.
Wishing desperately for peaches in apple season.
Desiring passion in place of intimacy.
Driving forward brakeless
when our bodies are on the verge of exhaustion.
There is more needed than is ever found.
There is more missed than savored.
There is more destroyed than created.
And we continue to fall down in helpless spirals
when all the while our wings lie folded back and ignored.
Our eyes memorize patterns of concrete sidewalk blocks
passing the countless open doors we will never notice
until unused they are boarded over,
nailed shut
and the contents of our lives lie empty.© 1997 wendi loomis "Reflection in Fragments" |