Poetry?

There was something carved into the newly bare wooden floor. But why hadn’t I noticed it before. It struck me as a sign or something worse, a wakeup call that blind-sides you on an idle Sunday:    Cursed.

Cursed with knowing more than I should know.About the things above below. Right, and left, or wrong and right? Or what one dreams about in the night.Or why it is that dreams exist? Or why the rhyming stops after this.

Why are painful thoughts more powerful than pleasurable ones Edmund Burke?

 How is it that words like F*ggot or N*gger; tiny compositions of man made letters   Evoke such strong emotions on the complexity of the  human brain?

How is it that human beings haven’t lost their minds yet:  We travel at the speed of sound, but can never know what happens tomorrow.

 Innocent people die in vein everyday

Everyone lives together in their own world, I used to think we were all in the same one.  But one must hope fore hope, and that then creates it.

 And I believe clouds can have a silver lining.

 But,

it is that same belief, that is truly befuddling.

 Belief?

The idea of belief being what any single human brain perceives to be reality,   makes  me wonder.

 How would you ever know if a sign is a sign ?

Or if you are crazy for looking?

 Or why the wind blows, (watching the trees dance as I sit)

Or why I think the answer is somehow in the wind.

2 Comments

  1. I guess this whole blog thing is really catching on for the former members of 46 Benny haha. How’s the novel coming along? You should post some excerpts on here.
    Anyway, feel free to check out my wordpress: jasonmilov.com

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