Hey everybody, here’s a poem that I wrote while at the tree sit. Everything’s still going well, despite several issues, which I’ll explain later far removed in time as a funny recollection, hahaha! Anywho, here’s the first poem of book #8.  I got it as a Holiday season gift giving time buy things buy things buy things gift.  It was an extra journal that someone had just lying around.

Conjunction

And what sucks most is not knowing the right words to say.

and the right words not to say;

If there are right words.

To say, or omit.

To feel, too unfit.

To fill the void

Mastered by silence.

 

But what if this was a world,

where the thought of speaking out,

was mired by shreds of the other people,

raised to a cacophony,

by outraged screaming,

by fear-filled shouts.

 

Or a world of one word,

Unified by a single thought,

People could be absurd

In everyway and be excused

For all actions and consequences

As long as the word is on their breath and heard.

 

What of the passing moments?

The cruel metronome beats.

The pounding heartbeats intense.

The thrilling beating of feet.

And beating of a foe once unbeatable

Or beaten by the untreatable.

 

Heavy on the shoulders are the burdens of the gifts of gods.

Understanding is a craving that the void silence has filled with dependance

On this world of words,

Of this blessing and curse of responsibility and independence.

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