my distractions say,

be mischievous,


and daft.

some teachers have said,

being prepared is the best,

for me it’s boring and stupid.

I don’t hold much wisdom,

too full of confusion,

that bowl is overflowing

with moronic distress.

anxiety fills my ears,

the sounds of the cheers,

mechanics in the kitchen

churning waters.

the hum of the net,

that engulfs my senses

is uncomfortable at best,

feeling quite unwell.

can light make a sound?

does the sky hit the ground?

does the yin of the light

dispell the yang of the night?

parts making wholes,

finding inherent existence

is the most fruitless of goals.

the impermanence is it’s nature,

arising, sustaining, then decays,

this existence wishes greater,

it fails time and time again.

so I fly by the seat of my pants,

listening only for the peace,

the ones that stop

the delusions and grief.

if I say only their words

I’m no more than a mouthpiece

with the potential to fail.

imagination is understanding,

the key to their words,

their meaning is built

into the land we find standing,

our bit of the world.

if under attack

ask why it didn’t smack

the crap out us

some time back.

remember our morals,

where’s the lines,

where’s the hands?

are they pushing the vulnerable

off that cliff?

or pulling the helpless

on to the land?

do we light the way

to happier days?

or stoke the fears of everyone else?

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