“The First Rays of Sunlight” – Frick Park – Pittsburgh, PA – Cairn of stacked stones on Nine Mile Run… I like building these stacks because they require me to zone out… To me… This is meditation… I can’t wait for it to warm up enough for me to return… Maybe then my positive poetry will again outnumber the negative…
The following poem contains a bit of vulgar language… If there is even a slight chance that will offend you… Move along… This poem is not for you…
We are reflections of those we have met in the past…
We are nothing more than mirrors…
We are love… We are hate…
We get classified based on our mental state…
Classification is the mark of the beast…
Governments say comply while they fucking feast…
Non-profits say give while they get retreats…
Take massive pay checks while volunteers clean the streets…
There has to be a better way than this…
Drug abuse is rampant the streets are filled with whores…
Bad people rule the world while the good people are poor…
People stand in line with signs fighting over church and state…
Border walls answer the call for someone to segregate…
Why do we let others choose our fate… Why do I…
Why can I not let my baggage go…
Why do I not feel worthy…
Why do I feel my past classifies me as worthless…
Because it does…
So fuck your classification system…
Fuck your records and your tools…
My life goal is to make the doubters look like complete and total fools…
I will make you tools because I have no other option…
History so bad the background check cautions…
So I’ll have to make my own way…
A green thumbed vagabond… You have no idea…
Look up fucked up that’s me in the encyclopedia…
Thank god for art… Thank god for poetry…
Thank god for the possibility of a god…
Thank god that we can be…
Anything we want to be…
As long as we pay taxes on our property…
Not to mention a flawless history…
The secret to anonymity is now but a mystery…
We are all marked… We stand in line…
Comply unconditionally or pay the fine…
Monetary loss or loss of freedom…
Then add-on charges if we try to impede them…
We are nothing more than products on the grocery store shelf…
We are products trained to work…
We work hard so more hard work is expected…
And then we work some more…
We work to afford these modern conveniences…
We have replaced life with labor…
Experience with degrees…
Reality with… Whatever you call this…
This joke we think is normal…
plant petunias and question everything – chriscondello
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
chriscondello 