Campfire sparks are burning like beacons of hope
that can only warm one person
on a cold night
Society doesn’t know about the young forest between suburbia
between struggling families with enormous mortgage payments
with all kinds of pressure
that provide meaning
Fears, that can never be big enough
Sparks, like time
born out of the fire
inspiration, that vanishes, like forgotten words
the river and woods that cut through the city
are a reminder
that what we build, will vanish, likes sparks in the night
If you are going to change, let it be a change, that sets you on fire
there is no going back from that
your desire, for fire, is contrary to a wet world
where green leaves, and threatening thunder, don’t strike you, the way they should
an education is the most dangerous gift you can give yourself
because it teaches you, the world isn’t right
it doesn’t come from being taught
what others want you to know
it comes from learning what can’t be unlearned in the library
it will burn you, and you can never make your life beautiful again
time, is a pressure, that tells us not to be wrong
while we are going the wrong way
and to turn around,
and walk back
is to turn our backs on what we know,
to betray our dangerous decisions.
We can wind-up in the woods one day
self-educated, with secrets, nobody cares about
if we don’t settle on solid ground, we become like sea birds
tossed in the trade-winds, unwilling to trade our dreams
for
a short-cut to reality
where people know, we will eventually fall
death is to be, where someone else, wants us to be
life is in the air.
How the middle class gets trapped, and couldn’t, move up, and, falls below, and, eventually, the shole middle class will become, nonexistent, there are only the, rich and the, poverty-stricken then…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Too true, taurusingemini! If you have your own music though, you can be rich!
LikeLike