We must have places to go, beyond four walls

Atmosphere, is what we need, to breathe

without that, our lives become stale.

I went over to my friend’s house, over the holidays

and the usual magic wasn’t there

When we get to know others, we write them off

and reading the same book, gets old

Our favorite, is placed on the shelf, to look at, but not to read

We think the books in the library are the same

because they all have the same hard covers

and this is how marriage can be

how life

more often than not, is

If we make a life with someone else,

we must read them,

like a religion

discovering

what we overlooked

or didn’t see

Doors must be walked through differently

One, can feel alone

One, can be in good company

One, can be with others, and not want to be

How do people get through this life?

It passes quickly, and there isn’t much to see

If I change my life, I won’t change me

I have been trying for so long—and I’m not any different

I may have to go to a Tibetan Monastery—but even these, have TV

the storm in the sea—where the man tries to sail around the world

makes him appreciate dry land

Without any pressure on the mind—it becomes mindless

like a ship without a rudder, sailing in the doldrums

Do you find yourself going to the same grocery store?

Do you think that if you changed

your life would be different?

They all look the same

the conversations

that try to be different

are the same

Staleness,

is the rule—

there might be magic, beneath the wrapping

but no,

it dresses-up the truth

Maybe, I need to mingle and meet people

go to a different country

learn a language

study chemistry

but I’m sure of one thing…

Writing poetry can’t be your life—your life needs to be Poetry.