These are times to rejoice and contemplate
These are times to create and despond
I have given everything and more to an idea
Healing over time is almost as painful as the original injury.
The moment moves without your control
Feeling weightless is a gift only given internally
How will you live, defining wealth, and how will you pass?
Why do we invent answers seeking for placation?
I want to qualify in the eyes of nature;
winning freedom on earth and escaping from prisoner’s delight.
Souls stand up against the torrent of existence,
while they fend off their automatic decay.
Are we not so human to ignore the kind of life we had
before this era of constant transgressions?
Are we human enough to catch the ending fever?
Oxygen has been replaced by exhaust.
We are forcing all life and matter to cope with our rampant needs.
Far off kilter the oversoul has gone.
Raw materials for building and torching,
a plethora of virgin dirt,
and all the pellucid waves that move from the surface to the sky.
Each of us can take,
if we do so happily
and give purity a chance.