As the clouds cry down and wet the soil,
in the dawn of here where I lay
amongst winged creatures
keeping shell within the sea of virtual,
with the bleak mumbles of people
existing in arguments, aggression and regiment
to which I find comfort,
knowing that the time in the day
will pass soon, that the evening sun is near
and the sky will go dark and heads will hit pillows,
it’s just another day in the world
to endure, a misfortune to many
if money did not sit so high in the pockets
of the world and if we were not forged,
into consumers, maybe happiness would be
or could be the answer to most of what we feel
the blossoming of seeds are coming
near now, the wet days of
dogs are beginning to come to an almost end,
it is like a caterpillar
eventually emerging into a butterfly
graceful, fluttering elegance
two weeks it will demise, verge upon the end
never actually being much more than a creature,
rot the dirt and shielding the ground
two weeks or a year
that is mother-nature’s bestiality.
Maybe I am a butterfly
feeling like my days are numbered and the
depression of dying crumbles my mind
reflecting on becoming a walking piece of meat
like a cow, forced to reproduce and lactate
live somewhere I don’t want to be
the force that pushes us, formulating the path
in front of us, needs to show
show where I will die
whether it will be this way.
The past I cannot forget. 