Sensibility
Run away, run away with me to a promised neverland. Dance with me, dance a rhythm to the halcyon heavens. Proportions and latitude are irrelevant. Time and space only exist in my mind.
I sit here and wonder. I ponder about nothing in particular but about my metaphysical existence, the rules and laws of our earth, society and humankind. I feel like a mute again. I'm too afraid to open my mouth. If I did, the toxic words would burn me into oblivion. I'm an experiment gone wrong. I'm a cure that self-imbolized itself to become the disease. I'm the famine to your harvest. Actually, I'm none of these. These words are just broad strokes of black paint to whitewash the neon words on the faux NYC brick walls of my apartment. I can see the open, clear blue sky of the summer solstice morning in front of me.
The ephemeral clouds write to me: "Live the question...don't look for the answers"
I whisper, "I know my questions like they are my answers." I guess I don't know the questions, yet. Maybe I should stop looking at "my" questions and look at "the" questions. What questions do I live for?
The internal fabric that controls the rules of conducting business creates grave consternation in my belly. The lack of responsibility to our society, people of other culture and planet is just plainly rude.
When and how can we change this? That's a good question.
I sit here and wonder. I ponder about nothing in particular but about my metaphysical existence, the rules and laws of our earth, society and humankind. I feel like a mute again. I'm too afraid to open my mouth. If I did, the toxic words would burn me into oblivion. I'm an experiment gone wrong. I'm a cure that self-imbolized itself to become the disease. I'm the famine to your harvest. Actually, I'm none of these. These words are just broad strokes of black paint to whitewash the neon words on the faux NYC brick walls of my apartment. I can see the open, clear blue sky of the summer solstice morning in front of me.
The ephemeral clouds write to me: "Live the question...don't look for the answers"
I whisper, "I know my questions like they are my answers." I guess I don't know the questions, yet. Maybe I should stop looking at "my" questions and look at "the" questions. What questions do I live for?
The internal fabric that controls the rules of conducting business creates grave consternation in my belly. The lack of responsibility to our society, people of other culture and planet is just plainly rude.
When and how can we change this? That's a good question.