there is spirit lurking
inside each of us
waiting to pounce on indecision
on indecency
on discrimination...
but still we sway and bend
with a lack of confidence........... kept docile
kept unsolicited
by sheer weight and human frailty
aghast
at the child we were
grown
into a complicated wreck of adulthood
longing for respite
in a world
long done of please and thank yous
so fragile it could erupt at any minute
into a noxious foolish riddle
that we can no longer "solve"
as if we ever could solve what
could be only be called perfection
once upon a bedtime story
about mankind's road to ruin
we dash about like pirates
parading stolen wares
to wear for the funeral
and forget the wheres
we came from
and the whys of where
we are headed
enjoying trinkets and baubblery
and forgetting to thank our maker
though
the one great perception
left amid the torrent waters
of revolution and conception
lies within the still untouched spirit
of the child who longs for his mother's nipple
thinks the world of the one who made him
remembers god's hand still
gently spooning him from the womb
and sees the fragilty around him
but laughs despite
the unsure world turning
simply
because he is alive
