I am puzzled every day at the mendacity of status quo lifestyles
including my own
When faced with a choice, a dirt path in the woods, overwrought with undergrowth
which diverges into two completely separate paths,
one, encapsulating the current, destitute and failed incorporation of all that “reality” brings into your life
and the other path, which travels deeper into the forest of unknown,
a book with a thousand pages, all untouched by ink,
there lies the unbeaten path, at risk of disavowing every single piece of humanity, social stratification,
while a corporate dog eats all, the pattern’s amazing
back home, they cling to it like an edge of the Grand Canyon
fingernail fractures soil, a last attempt at continuing this dance
storm forms
inflation captures, fiat enraptures
no patience left in depth,destroying the nexus of stress, bliss
how much can I, stress/this
brows are beaten, tear gas creeps through crowds/disperses the defeated
Escape to a search of beyond
beyond lies, cries, miserable subsistence colored ugly by lights neon
fright for eons
spite against dark, and all colors from there to white getting beyond
the last Act of this play,
where subtle apprehension dies
I never seem to coax my own courage from its slumber in caves
hiding under a box of lumber, 6 feet beneath the grave
Although so clearly I envision the mission
Envisage a reverence for nature, for our mother, for the atmosphere
Its so easy to escape it, I once saw a beaten pathway which curved up a mountain,
where I would build my encampment, sheltered from extremity
hiding from sweltering hegemony
There I would build a fire, and chop down a hundred trees,
erect palisade walls for protection, and fall back to ancestral speed
A human can survive in harsh wilderness owning little more than nothing
while here, having it all is never enough to thrive
When will I barricade myself out of a population of lost souls,
to discover my own?
How long must I be led astray from a path where the docent dwell
from a location of secret sanity, hidden in plain view
I always feel I am twelve steps behind progress,
twelve steps behind an infernal machine, tearing
limb from limb on a march for segregated happiness,
and false hope, while
only twelve miles away, sanctuary stagnates, awaiting my return
Why does fighting daily for survival appear such a liberty-stricken dream
while enough amenities to please royalty exist now,
to satiate the most greed-driven fiend
