Monday, March 24, 2014


(image credit here)

What drove people
to create things?
Monuments and destruction
were the endings
of all the wars
that ever were.
So what was the point
of all the music and
the movies and the
paintings, all the art and
dance and bombs and
explosions and births
and orgasms?

Why does longing
for the warmth of human flesh
struggle to find descriptions
that raises the blush in your cheeks
and memories that should be kept
in heart and not grey matter?

Do we long for perfect
first kiss stories
to hide the ugly truth
of why the world
is falling apart
in its seams?

Or weep over
the things we cannot control
to show that we
are truly grateful
of all the things
we take

So why does it seem
that for every wrong
there are
a multitude of rights
to make you feel guilty
of what you can have?

Why do we seek
to find
all that is
and take a picture?

Are we that afraid
of wiping out
our own species
so we are now
all desperate
to leave our mark in the world?

Every polluted molecule
every sullied part of nature
we are there
every birth
and every death
we are there

Of the things we deem ordinary
and the things we may not understand
our existence
is woven into every droplet
of rain
and paint
and tear
and alcohol
that ever existed

We are there

Every grain of rice
of sand
of wheat
Every leaf
of tea bushes
and marijuana

We are there

In the midst of creation
there will always be
the destruction
and decomposition
of what we know
as "the self"

For what is the self
but beliefs
and memories
and feelings
coming together
to form
and everyone else

So why do we have
to make sure
that someone
would remember us?

Is this struggle
made for the comfort
of those we leave behind?
To have a final say
in how we want
to be remembered?

Or do we create
for the sake of creation
to fill the urge
of emptiness
seeking for
pretend completion?

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