i guess i
find it strange
the way
people i d e n t i f y
and q u a n t i f y
their existence
according to
a version of
a brand of
the divine,

greatly chosen b y
influenced b y
geography and
  family ties.

and i'm sorry, but,
it cannot be
that everyone is
simply describing
the same
phenomena with
different w o r d s
      like a version
           or an update
   or an accent,

because although life
is grey, some things are,
and some things
are not.

there is but one
merriam-webster
dictionary.

dictionary.com also
defines words,
even the
same words
but they are
distinct entities.

they live under
the umbrella of
    a bigger concept
about words
   and language,

they are versions of
explanations of
a more
e l u s i v e
construct -

the word.

and you cannot even grasp
exactly what
  the word is,
because it
depends on
so many factors.

yet most
grab onto and cling to
the first dictionary
thrown at them.

others might exist
and even be
similar,

but you know
you have your favorite,

you are a
brand loyalist.

and the product
is

reality.

which is fine,
i guess,
in and of
itself

as long as
you can admit
that Kleenex is
the best and
Puffs is for
losers.

sure, you might smile at
the Puffs users and
even bring them
a meal,

but deep down inside
you know that
   you are right

**and they are wrong.

When was the last time
I felt a raving hunger for life?
When had I but an eternity in moments,
on the edge of something vastly different?

How was it me and not you
who staked her soul high
on rolling hills of green,
took long draughts to savour, to condense
the weight of the world into one precious drink,

cup the shortest days in her palm and release them,
for her thoughts to balloon into the wild?

The delectable now—
ripe as berries for plucking in winter,
and all things, like music
must peter
into silence.

So I suppose my question to you
is not concerned with
the stack of newly-minted green in your pocket,
nor the fleet of shiny cars, but
your pure self, simply being.
It’s prodding the heart,
a tiny critter fluttering with wings, wondering:

when will you ever get a second chance at this—
all this storm
and inexplicable happiness—

or will you
go hunting for things,
whirling at mere traces
of power in your name—

or will you turn around
only to find a life
or a lie,
staring back wide-eyed
in endless shame?

© BT