If I listen to the next man or woman
who cuts a life to pieces
with a sweeping statement
like a knife
slashing
a living body
of work
that’s died
I’ll feel murdered
inside.
My soul, remains
because of dead bodies
crying out
from the grave.
I alone
seem to be the only one
who hears them.
The rest, say, “Good, he died. He was a socialist, a parasite, on humanity.”
A sweeping gash
of red paint
splattered across greatness
with no chance
for greatness to defend itself.
Strangely, no defense is needed
Greatness
can’t be undone
though, many have tried.
Maybe, I’ve been infected
by my own curiosity, cutting too deeply
right into my bones—
the marrow of understanding.
Dead people
say more than you do.
They are honest
because they can’t hide
naked, underground
unlike you, clothed with cowardice.
This sneaking humanity
says, “Let’s be friends…”
and they walk away.
Hurt people
hiding
in grocery stores
believing
I hate them
when I don’t
How can I?
I don’t even know
them
“Good morning,” I say.
They can’t look me in the face.
We meet at doorways
their shattered respect
distorted
like slivers
of glass
piercing
with pain
infecting
their anger.
My respect
is compromised.
My power
tested.
But now,
the only opinion
that matters
is my own
self-opinion.
Their words
don’t enter
my mind.
Their pride
is part of the crowd
more dangerous
than a thousand
hungry lions,
waiting to eat
the living.
We are saved
by what we believe.
We are saved
by what we reject.
Don’t listen
to the lions’ roar.
Listen to the silence
inside
those living people
who have died.
The title and relevance of that statement can’t be ignored. Life is too precious and too short to live half alive
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Yes; I have been working on a philosophy about being alive… Every once and a while, you find someone who is REALLY ALIVE. I’m trying to be that way. Thanks for reading and commenting kinge! 🙂
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All the best in your quest and I am sure you will achieve it. Being present in every moment and practicing gratitude in these moments it’s the fastest way to your goal. Peace 🙏🏻
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I really like this. I love poems that make me think. It made me think of how people act strangely toward me when I sing while I shop, as though I’ve broken some sort of taboo. Now, mind you, I don’t sing well, but that’s beside the point. Singing gives me joy. Why can’t they allow that joy to infect them as well?
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I know, right?! Thanks for reading and commenting Jen and the Furries. Those were my thoughts and feelings, exactly!
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Refreshing to read such detail. Oh how the dead truly speak louder than we do. Thank you for sharing your words with us all. Well done.
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Thanks for your kind words Jeffrey Scott! 🙂 The dead do speak louder than we do!
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