Movement

Loss is what we remember
and lasting grief
that carries us like a current
to the mouth of death.

We look primarily backwards,
so all that’s left is memory,
and that will go
unless somebody records it.

We’re created with conflicted yearnings,
thus, rarely learn
beyond what we originally received
in act of birth;

so misinterpret intentions
and claw our way,
if only to relieve apply more tension.
We say winning is not important.

Thus do we lie and fail to wonder
how streams of separate lives
converge
and gravitate to rivers
bringing soil to deltas;
yet think we’re swimming alone.

What we mean is rarely what’s said,
so are left to question
messages meant to deceive,
while we ourselves are the most deceived..
Necessity, we’re inclined to call it
though it’s mostly greed.

Content to go and never content to stay,
we waste our lives,
then rail against lack of achievement:

a pail that will never be filled,
so full of holes.
Thus, it is that hollowness drives us,
those deep dug holes
engendered in our birth and are never filled.

We tend to be deprived of sleep;.
yet dream of still better worlds
where man is no longer the master,

where rocks and trees
are seen as living creatures,
and all life grows according
to its whim.

Such is the world we long for
and the world we fear,
a world familiar with pure destruction
where we cannot hide,

from what we have always done
in greed and pride,
pretending to act for the good,
always knowing better.

And so I mourn this earth,
this earth I love,
the only place I know where love can hold;
but also a place of evil where hatred grows

and destruction continues to expand
because man insists on playing chicken
with bombs and guns and disease:

fire first and, afterwards, ice,
not a soul left to say good-bye
or express regret.