Dust

Dust is so beautiful sparkling in light

Stars as they twinkle and blink in the night.

Sand can be smooth if I walk very slow

Running my fingers along with the flow.

 

I am like dust but I do not know why

I cannot twinkle like those in the sky,

Muddied instead like the dirt on my shoes

Clinging to something I know I will lose.

 

Those caught in darkness are hoping to glow,

Wishing to be like a landscape of snow.

Mirrors of something far greater a sight,

Dust to reflect a more beautiful light.

Trypophobic

We are so afraid of holes because

Holes are signs of imperfections

Holes are where decay set in.

People look into holes

And only see gaps

So we cover

Our holes.

But

What if

Holiness

Is when the holes

Are allowed to work?

Letting light through the breaks?

Since fists too tight to open

Can never hold another hand

Or release the regrets of the past.

 

The Modern Pharaoh

I’m packing my sarcophagus

To take into the afterlife.

My house and car and property,

My pets and children, plus my wife.

My education and degrees,

Awards and many accolades,

The land investments, stocks and bonds,

And all the money I have made.

And now to place my body down

To all my things, myself I give.

But if in death they have no worth

Did they have value while I lived?

The Game We’re In

The bank gave me a dollar bill

To give the bill to my good friend

To build my shop atop the hill

And see construction to the end.

 

I thought that I had taken care

To guess the cost to build my store.

But he replied, “I’ll help you there.

It only costs a dollar more.”

 

He had my dollar, I had none,

The bank had zero dollars too.

They gave me credit, minus one,

So I must pay them back with two.

 

He started planning up designs

And buying up the wood and bricks.

But not long after gave a sigh

And said the piping needs a fix.

 

I sought the bank for one more loan

Which filled them with anxiety

My debt was large and now had grown

So I must pay them back with three.

 

One day I asked when it’d be done

He said that it was hard to know

Since nothing’s free under the sun.

But where did all my money go?

 

He laughed and said to think it through,

“The money goes around and ’round,

And it will all come back to you,

The store will rake in pound for pound.”

 

I paid my friend, who bought the wood

From others in the lumber yard,

Who paid the grocer for the goods,

Ensuring wife and child don’t starve.

 

Then they would use that money too

Investing in their businesses

And hire one more lumber crew

To reach much further distances.

 

But then I had an awful thought

What if the money never came?

Just stopped up at the very top

By wealthy hoarders playing games?

 

If funding does not circulate

Then how will I repay the bank?

For payments which are paid too late

Will make my credit rating tank.

 

And interest fees will pile up high

Undoing everything I made

Until my value’s sucked up dry

While hoarders end up getting paid.

 

“You borrowed from the future you

And risked it on this present bet.

The banks did only what they knew

To roll the dice that you had set.

 

You’re too far in to try and stop.

You’ve got to trust the system works.

So open up your hillside shop

And gamble with those banker jerks.”

 

Of course, he egged me on to try

The risk was mine and mine alone.

The system rigged to watch me die

And suck the marrow from my bones.

 

I cannot trust that they would play

By rules so everyone would win

Because if I were them I’d say

“Well, don’t you know what game we’re in?”

 

The Most Difficult Thing to Do

When we witness the violence that people commit

We declare that these monsters we cannot permit.

Yet it’s strange that we humans will never admit

That they also are humans, not demons from myth.

 

It is humans who rip away mother from child

And the same who would trample a fellow when riled.

And the instant we glance at the skulls we have piled

We will know in our hearts that our race is defiled.

 

But acknowledging this is a beautiful thought,

Because monsters are creatures who cannot be fought.

And accepting the truth can more often than not

Redirect our attention to things we forgot.

 

That despite the injustice mankind can display

We can harness a goodness in much the same way

By perceiving each other as people who stray

And then showing true mercy as well as good grace.

 

 

Elegy of Agriculture

The tribe had torn itself apart;

A tragic end that none foresaw.

They used to eat what they had found

But then they learned to till the ground.

 

Their backs were bent to reach the soil

Their minds grew numb from endless toil

Although their crops could feed much more

Their lives were nasty, brutish, short.

 

And when a cry was raised to stop

And feed themselves no more with crops

The tribe once numbered ninety-nine

But now two hundred stood in line.

 

So half must leave to lands unknown

But who could judge the ones to go?

And so instead consumed with fear

They carved their plowshares into spears.

 

The freedom that the victors craved

Was stripped from those that they enslaved

And thus society was formed

To work the fields forevermore.