Hauntingly aware of

Not knowing how to know yourself

Either from lack of friction, of

Manufactured and gifted heart aches,

Of choosing the other end of pain,

Of civic vice and virtue,

The feeling effect arrives at night.

As well as the early hours of the morning,

Where there are no distractions,

Where there are no excuses,

Where there is no one else but you.

There are no ravens or song birds or

Meditation playlists or

Coffee or tea or favorite podcasts or hellos;

Good mornings, good evenings.

Those things are for someone else,

Someone else created, cajoled;

A figure who forgot the faint whimper

Of a supposed’ dream,

Spurred by any number of stimuli,

And then replaced

With necessity, and sin.

The mirror, as well as the lens,

Has no reason to lie to you,

But the world does

Like people do to

Get something from you.

There’s never enough to go around.

We can always have more for tomorrow.

You must know that by now?

In the end - like all ends -

What is wanted is never needed.

Every want is a cloaked’ dagger

Of this new world's version of procrastination,

Keeping you as you see it today,

For their own purposes, their own plans,

Their own building blocks of an infrastructure

You never wanted to be a part of it anyway.

The river requires nothing

For you to swim in it

But a person needs everything

To let you in the door.

The forest, the desert, the sky, the

Ocean, all the same.

The breath that you breathe

Has only ever given it to you

And as the eyes and ears

Make believe the moon and the stars

From an inability to wonder and feel true awe,

The most satisfying thing can be realizing

There was never any carrot

(That was their trick)

And only ever the stick.