poetry – Page 127 – Picking Up Roots

Progress

as we advance,
we fall back -

progress a plague;
addiction a screen
hiding forgotten truth
ignored with no recourse -
we know no limits
facts are rumors
whispered on the wind;
reality,                                            truth
is what we believe

we've done this to ourselves;
post-modern questions
opening the door for invalid answers -
we numb ourselves
with harmonious songs
condemning those who sing off key
forgetting to ask why they know a different note -

the disease is more
the symptoms: want and greed
we could be cured by enough

if we could see past the screen
to look back,
to accept old truths,
we might be sated

The End of Optimism

at dawn 
the sun bruises the night sky,

we feel night’s pain
for in the light of day
we can no longer hide
the ugliness of our truths
without living a lie -

dawn is a confessional,
but the trust is gone

with sadness,
we don’t see:
we’re becoming more comfortable 
in the light with our lies

Light

this godforsaken life:
a frustration of living
toward its inevitable end

no quarter is given,
no one is taught to love -
they refuse to learn -
we destroy with the ease of breathing
because building is hard;
the smartest business won't spend now
to profit later,
prizing today's greed
over tomorrow's wealth;

there is no greater good
just the individual
we don't lament the loss
there is no time
as we come to terms
with reality,
attempting to find
a middle ground for living

night is coming for all of us
do what you can
to make the most of your light
                                       provide some for others