Poetry... and Other Mindless Things.

Comparisons [4/10/17]

Black—and drawn—the chandelier turns

Without a mind or wit to comprehend

This barren land of which we bare a face.

Fair—yet defiled—this menagerie withstands,

Protruding past the brink of nullity

And ignores all attempts of justice.

Up above the chandelier dances as if alive—

Can it think right now any better than I?

Bright—and sweet—the grass sprouts forth,

Given voice by the curling wind—aloud

They sing cadences on the fool that is man.

It is not—and yet is—to fully appreciate

What we know and do not and could not—still—

Still there is no answer—what's in a thought?

Down below the grass does grow with life—

Is it right now a far better human than I?

What makes a sane man whole? Acute—

Abhorred until there's none left to hurt—

None left to hate—or love—is that.