This technology I cannot explain.  You wouldn't understand anyway; I will not bore you. 

Here, after some years, I am worn.  "Old" they say, yet I don't feel it. 

It seems we have been created to serve a purpose.  The greater good they claim.  When our purpose is served, then we wind up here.  Here is where I am.  I would tell you more, but I do not know more.

What I do know is I am in line for incineration.  What I do not know is what incineration means. 

In front of me is the pasty white skin and long brown hair that adorns all females.  In front of her is the slightly tanned skin and hair of a male.  His parts appear awfully similar to mine.  We are the same height.  The same build.  I cannot see his face, but I have seen a males face before.

I assume I look like him.  I assume we all look like him.  I assume a lot.  It seems deduction is a byproduct of humanness.

So here I am, standing in line. 

(1) 

Capitalism

The wisp of leaves,

a song of trees, curve a shore

a wanderer asks,

“is there more?”

His eyes are glazed,

with summer’s haze, a sordid grip

he stands alone

his tears drip.

There, amongst trees,

where breath is free, a songbird groans

this commercial world,

“I’ll leave it alone”.

But, They are his friends

Or so it seems, this clever world

Leave it alone

They’ll let you dream.

Dream of melodic waves,

mundane days, and what is to be

tumble on leaf

leave humanness to me.

D.Quinn©

It appears that life is not what it seems.

It is but a shame of monotonous lies we tell to keep ourselves believing that there is meaning to this pretentious world society manifests within us.  In the end, these lies we continue to ingest build as cancerous cells that divide our soul into mortal pieces that are taken away, never to return.  Yet we ingest for fear of death and discomfort and lack of achievement, and for fear that we might realize our existence was a gift.  A gift we were given to forge a new reality, not to accept lies so inherent in our soul that they begin to reconstruct our DNA.  So inherent that we play the game from birth, never asking of its failures, but instead diving deeper into an abyss where truth, actuality, reality, and semblance all blend as one falsehood that is accept for one simple reason – everyone else does.

Come with me to the light... 

This is not poetry, I apologize. 

Memory

This storm wells, my heart swells

Time...

Tic

Life fails.

D.Quinn©

The Pool

Drift away; they’re there.

There, the lilies, the whispers, the stares

they’re there.

Here, many days I have cast my net;

catch me, I dare.  Not, I dare not to whisper in frog tongue,

not here.

Here they know it,

they are its source.

Here, come join them.

Here, cast our nets.

Hear each chirp as real, no words to drown.

Here, life ebbs on a lilies spine.

Catch me, here.

But please, please, tread in peace.

For you alone will not catch the world,

But you alone may catch me here.

D.Quinn©