no love no hate;
no destiny no fate;
stop being so au fait.
Sylvia said it best;
you're not the living;
you're the rest.
Time clicks by and you don't even see it;
I'm no fancy poet;
I'm the first to admit.
But look at the starts, the sea and the sun;
Their everlasting metaphors have all the fun;
we sit, we sleep, we shit, we weep;
the sun warms the water as they laugh at our heap.
'They don't know what they're missing' said the star from way up high;
you can write, you can sing, you can criticize, you can sigh;
but to answer this statement we can only say 'aye'.
We adore the birds, so free in the sky;
But I hate heights so I don't care if they die;
The elephants roam free in the African wild;
While we encage and suppress our stupid child;
Anthromorphology is not for me;
no metaphor or poem will describe what I can't see;
so take with this poem no enlightened soul;
and continue your life as a darkened blind mole;
Speeches don't speak a thousands stories;
just full stops, half-ryhms and intentional pauses;
let us die with shame as we fail on our two feet;
this is what they want;
you never left the teet.
