10 May 2014

One Hundred and Three


What makes anyone really believe some deity born of their imagination
Truly wants this inane monkey-mind absurdity to continue?
A bad joke, a cruel hoax, a meaningless dream,
For which the only outcome is ruin.

* * * *
The stirrings of self-importance are within each and every mind,
Confabulated in in its own unique, even delusional fashion.
All paths to glory ultimately find the same grave,
But meanwhile, the show goes on and on.

* * * *
We are all, each and every single one, ensnared
In one odds bodkins reverie or another.
Consciousness is quantum fever.
Divine madness, if you will.

* * * *
Hey, listen up!
Put down your guns,
Stop breeding like maggots,
Stop being so narcissistic and greedy.
Get over petty self-absorption, learn to work together.
Plant some seeds, water and cultivate.
It is all one … real simple.
Figure it out.

* * * *
Nothing lost, nothing gained.

* * * *
To really not want anything,
To truly be empty of all desire,
Now that is a quality of Nadaville
Far more singular than any assertion.

* * * *
Small lies are easily camouflaged in large truths.
Large lies often bask in the majesty of their audacity.

* * * *
Perception, sometimes vague and obtuse, sometimes clear and acute.
Yet always just perception, imagination playing its predictable game.