Thoughts in France

Thoughts in France 1

We act as if we are constrained inside palace walls,

Or prison walls, what is the difference?

These rooms are built to house, not to hold.

We breathe air, therefore we are light.

We do not need to fill ourselves with the

Lead of self-perception and of false perception

It is what is what is, and no amount of

Thoughts can provoke what is not.

But perhaps existence and lack of existence

Is too finite a cup to hold these experiences.

What life provides us is not a sweet wine to

Pour and to treasure,

There is no cup to fill to the brim, feeling elation, or to drain, feeling deprivation.

It is what is what is, let's stop trying to name this.

Thoughts in France 2

I want to throw up every bad thing in the world,

All the fair blond lies, all the pretenses, all the intended moments of tenderness that miss the mark.

I want to remove from my one single precious entity

Every immoral act, every act not motivated by pure simplistic desire.

Sometimes the mind conjures frightening thoughts.

Death and hate, war and love,

God, there IS more to this life.

I beg for help in my most helpless moments,

For help to shed the skin others see.

I want everybody to know that I know no more.

We are ghosts. The substance we maintain is

Not enough.

I want you to feel the knot in my stomach and

The splash of tears. I cry for the world,

For the wisdom we lack,

For the poor decisions, the false, pretense-driven actions we all take.

I cry for the innocence I see in others, because I know that mine exists no longer.

A child's feather-light smile or shallow scowl makes me ache for my childhood.

A slow roll over, an exhale, a deep breath

Sleep breath of another makes me yearn for a repossession of my innocence.

Life, time, years,

We are born at an epicenter,

We grow and we move straight away,

When our radius surpasses a point when we and God are no longer synonymous,

When we are full of hate and malice and ill experience, we die.

God, help us stay put.