Our Burning House

Ignorance is bliss
Have you ever thought of this?
A burning building full of danger,
Seen by some as majestic splendor.
No. It’s destructive and people are dying.
“I see none escaping, are any even trying?
They should work harder at not being trapped,
Then they wouldn’t be so sad about where they’re at.”
While those in power hold the hose
And water hostage. Will only release those,
If the ones inside, for rescue, pay a fee.
The spectators:”This is not the job for you and me.”
The victims:”We have nothing to pay where will we turn?”
Those in power: “I guess you’ll have to burn.”
Those outside too far away:
“We can all help if a small amount we pay!”
Those close by: “I will not be forced! Out of our own free will, we must choose today.”
Others will die while they retain their “right to choose“.
Everyone will eventually suffer for this bruise.
While everyone has the right to safe roads,
So many will perish in their death throes.

What the Waves Teach

Tiny cracks, tiny fractures in the sand.
Tracks: an arrow, pointing to the culprit.
Impermanence of pain felt by this land,
And with the tide comes memories forfeit.
Into the sunset one or two may go,
Leaving behind a stamp on the day fair,
Revisiting this day later to show,
There are none like it, no, none do compare.
This day and that, like beads on strings, endless.
Are they aware how fragile, made of glass
Are beads on the universes necklace?
Each day adds another that will not last.
Our days: numbered; grains of sand on the beach,
Beside times ocean, we must learn what the waves teach.

Dasein

A specific space and time
There-being and being there,
How is existence really defined?
By thinking or not, or, many reductions?
Or by gravity, space, and times many influxes?
Here I am not knowing.
Such questions continually sowing,
The only absolute truth:
We absolutely know nothing.
But in knowing nothing absolutely,
We know something irrefutably.
Nothing becomes something,
Something becomes doubt.
The search for truth continues,
Truth is absolutely the only truth,
I guess this is what it’s all about.

Considering Decay

I found a bone
I brought it home
It once walked over dirt and stone,
It held a creatures flesh and skin,
It was partially the vessel the soul had traveled in.
I found a bone, a bone called sin.
I found a bone, the bone was dead.
Though alive in my head,
To me it said:
“What I was, I no longer am,
Though you hold me still I stand,
And one day will become the sea and land.”
I set it down then to display,
How it still stands, in a way,
How it still moves, and runs and plays.
You’ll see this too, if you consider decay.