Ruminations

I was thinking about Charles' Bukowski's edict:
'Endurance is more important than truth.'
But that don't mean I gotta do 15 shots
And drink 10 Bell's Ambers
To feel I fought the good fight.
The good fight is every day you
Manage to remain on this planet
With a modicum of sense
And have good companionship,
Be it friends, lovers, gay or straight.

The good fight is to have people
Struggling for the same goal,
Whether by choice or
Because they are forced to.
Your peers are the ones who are
Doing the same thing as you are.

It is better to have a relationship
With a group of like-minded individuals
Who are working for the same goal as you are.
But finding that like-minded individuals part
Is like trying to stop a heart beating
With your mind.
It's almost impossible.

I am rambling...
I am deadly serious.
I am completely clueless.
I just have to ask questions.
I have to ask questions
Until the door closes forever.
And I think there is only one door that does that.
But I could be wrong!

Pilgrims

I wish we were pilgrims again.
I wish the world was new again.
When the sight of rows of corn elicited excitement.
When they built campfires just for the pleasure of it.
When they didn't have to post about it to make it worthwhile
When they didn't have to like anything or hash tag it.
When life was only for the present.
And the simplest things transcendent.

I wish we were pilgrims again.
When they told ghost stories around a campfire
With only their imaginations to give them shape.
No special effects. No car crashes with daring escapes.
I wish the world was new again.
When they wrote letters and then had to wait.
Anticipation is lost today.

Now life is immediate.
Now everything is referenced.
Now we have no direction.
And we have to enshrine
All that is benign.
Now we catalog it for all to see.
From our shits to our appendectomy.

Sorry if I am cynical.
But life is so clinical.
We are detached from our own experience.
We have to like it to give it credence.
It's all so self-referential.
Including my own musings.
An irony not of my choosing.
I don't mean to be heavy-handed.
But that's what the words commanded.

I think I'm from another time.
Where poetry still had to rhyme.
When there was no mountain we couldn't climb.
And we still thought sunsets were sublime.
Where life was simple and pleasures few.
But there's one thing that I know is true.
Though this world is modern, it is far from new.

Desire

Desire is a beast.
Desire is a feast of the senses.
Desire is as immense as
The human mind can conceive.
Desire does not abate.
Desire cannot wait.

Desire is our undoing.
Desire is just screwing
With our heads and our hearts.
Desire makes us crazy.
Desire makes us lazy.
While we sit around yearning,
Deep inside we're burning.

Desire is the winner
Of the soul of every sinner.
Desire is unrelenting.
And after we need repenting.
Desire turns her tricks.
And there's nothing can fix
The need for her kiss.

Desire is forever.
And we will never
Escape her call.
Until we are laid,
Deep in our graves.
Desire promises rapture.
But to desire is to be captured.

Even the deepest holy man
Can maybe never understand
The power of her persuasion.
Desire does not spare you.
Desire will ensnare you.
Desire leaves you breathless.
Desire is your nemesis.

Desire can enslave us.
Desire wants to tame us.
Desire takes our will.
But when we give in to her,
We're still unfulfilled.
Desire is a mighty circle
Of eternal ceaseless pull.
Desire is invincible.