My days crawl in a vapid succession
My eyes fixated upon the inscrutable way
In which pastel days fade into pallid nights
Languid sunrise dwindles into dreary sunsets
As I wander in between listlessly
Gathering it's dusty remnants
And threading them together
In unembellished phrases
Hackneyed to death
As the first weary ray of dawn
Ruffles through my hair
I yawn, sigh
and repeat again

The world to me does not exist,
as now I only live in my bed,
sheets and blankets clenched in my fists,
waking up is now something I dread.
The world to me does not exist,
as I just previously said,
and they all say ignorance is bliss,
I had to clear room in my head.

I am just stuck in a rut,
a misery merry go round,
smoking each cigarette to the ****,
silence still making too much sound.

Travel on, keep your feet strong,
life is too short but still too long.
Rambling soul, you'll pay the toll,
with a mind of fire and a heart of coal.
I don't want to stop this,
no I don't want to wait,
fear of missing something to miss,
with a touch of hope of being too late.

The world to me does not exist,
the blue pill looked better than the red,
every hour lived is now on a list,
compiled with showering and being fed.
The world to me does not exist,
society is something I've always fled,
I've hid in the shadows and the mist,
and quietly I've always bled.

I am just stuck in a rut,
a misery merry go round,
with constant aches in my gut,
and lungs that have already drowned.

Travel on, keep your feet strong,
life is too short but still too long.
Travel on, keep your feet strong,
nothing is right and nothing is wrong.
Rambling soul, you'll pay the toll,
with a mind of fire and a heart of coal.
Rambling soul, you'll pay the toll,
you'll live your life and play your role.
I don't want to stop this,
no I don't want to wait,
fear of missing something to miss,
with a touch of hope of being too late.

I know it sounds crazy,
I know I'm such a drag,
I don't know if I'm just lazy,
or if routine is prone to lag.

I keep buying tickets for the lottery
though I'm told I already won.
with each gamble I hope to see,
a glimpse of blue skies and the sun.

I do not write poetry
because
Great dead men on my shelves
have done it

I must be busy with
something that's mine.

I do not write poetry
because
Birds by the millions fly
north to their own preachers

I must fly to my own east.

I do not write poetry
because
The sun dances in the sky
on a flower-filled day

I must be there to watch it.

I do not write poetry
because
Though the dogs in the yard
Have not bathed for ages

They ask for a hug
and I must give it.

I do not write poetry
because
The wounds of my past
fester now and then

I must be there to bind them.

I do not write poetry
because
The father of my children
is the best cook in the world

I must be there to love him.

I do not write poetry
because
The child wants boots
to scale his own mountain

I must be there to free him.

I do not write poety
at all--
because I live it.

Skip on forward
Go back one song

Repeat
Repeat
Repeat

Live life in mundane drones

A million monarchs lie dead, though,
No less sociological programming of
Upper-middle to rich classes with
Decadence, affluence, inclusion, is.
No less societal determination of
Middle to lower, being excluded by
Division and conquering, privation.
Yet, they, on wing no more, still fly
In our spirit's eye, heal humanities' heart.
While their silent cry echoes
The 33,000 species extinct each year,
A rate not seen since the last ice age
Ensued; does it move you?
Does your curiosity ask why?
Will you, on this 33rd Earth Day, allow
A tear for all life's fallen? Consider
The losses economic apartheid incurs,
Mirrored by the divide humancentricity
Has levied? Our underlying duplicitous
Disregard for life, greed and oil fueled,
Won't abate for our existence, will you?

Not thoughtless
   enough to  ****  all day long
Not thoughtful
   enough to  escape the hood
Not petty
   enough to  market my  ancient little lies
Not honest
   enough with my  self  to
   out  grow  these twisted  vines

   All along, I've been
friends, only with the pen
   The pen is kind to me
when  I've  blown  my
chances, myself
   Slice  a  Y  you'll find
   The  heart  is  pa - per
   The  blood  has taken ink

   All along, I've been
friends, only with the pen
   All along, I've not been my own  by
extension, not myself
   No way I ever was
   If you could only see me now  my
friends

I believe life is hiding a secret from me
I don't think it's meant to be so heavy and equally so empty


I lie awake seeking the moon for answers, staring at sunsets falling asleep in oceans
I know it wants me to find it

With every breath I chase the passion that will help me discover it
Discover something
Discover more than the mundane

I believe I'm one step closer, with every poem, every adventure, every photograph


Fueling with more fire every time,
so that it can simply just reveal itself

I rise late
My love is away
Going through the motions
Such a sorry state
The cold numbs me today
Water falls on my face
Put on the uniform
Grab my mask
I drive twenty five
Empty halls are the norm
As I complete mundane tasks
Hours roll by
Sitting alone
Back to work
I sigh
Glance anxiously at the clock
104 or 5 to 6
Speed home
Lights out
I miss her
The fairer chromosome
My heart filled with doubt
Does she miss me
Do I cross her mind
I think of her always
I lie in dark solitude
My empty tears are blind
As I fall away in a haze
Goodbye everyone

When long commutes and monotonous drives
Define the journeys in our lives,

And being boxed into office hives
Has long since left our souls deprived.

Ask yourself.
Is this living?

When years sat down, in terse duress
Form on our heads deep valleys and crests,

And weekends are for the unfinished mess
Of work still piled high on uncleared desk.

Ask yourself.
Am I alive?