"Tis a wonderful moment,
To be alive, and in communion;
To be safe and secure,
Knowing that Death works with another
While Dream is crafting, in real-time, memory's mother..."
When the eggs are fluffy,
And the nopales juicy,
And the coffee stays full...
The sun need not break the horizon, too.
When animals approach you
With wonder and enthusiasm...
Knowing you would not torment them so.
Alas, 'tis also a pity
That the phone, and the TV
And all the electronic world
Throw up so many distractions,
So many people, prancing in pretense -
(Like this very poem, perhaps?) _
All that in their brittle attempts
To be noticed
Before their brief candle gets snuffed out...
"Out, Out, Damn Spot!"
That I would not measure up,
That I was not worth some false achievement!
The stain of the judgements
Eats at the fabric of my soul...
And all the distractions
And all the king's decrees
Would cloud my mind
And make me forget the joy of being me!
Oh, there are duties to fulfill
And so many terrible bills,
And they all steal that gleam in my eye,
By making me hate the struggle,
And despise the endless trudge,
Day after day, looking only to die.
When I fall into that trap,
When I live another's picture of life,
Everything becomes grey and flat
And my mind fills up so much strife;
And I cry out, Out
In the dead of night!
Ah, to return to safety and security,
To try, as well as I may,
To communicate, to share,
To craft all my world with what I would say -
And hope, ever so much, that you will not try to affect me
So as to be trapped, like some Dorian Gray,
In your picture of life:
"For it may suit you fine,
But it does not give me peace of mind."