Circus
How can so much beauty be just a show?
Because it is, you know. A show.
Nothing more than an overrated circus of people
Loving and being loved, hating and being hated,
Hurting and being hurt.
Round and round we dance, finding new ways
To manipulate the base instincts of others to suit ourselves.
Survival: that's all it is.
Survival of the uncaring and selfish.
Taking, taking, always snatching at what we want
With not a thought for consequence
Or the effect we have on others.
I trip, I stumble,
Like a teary-eyed clown in the center ring,
And others watch. They laugh.
They do not see the pain underneath the mask of stone I wear,
Painted with tears of happiness and a smile of hurt.
They take their pleasure from watching my pain,
Sure that they are better people, that they are immune to such misfortune.
Because it is, you know. A show.
Nothing more than an overrated circus of people
Loving and being loved, hating and being hated,
Hurting and being hurt.
Round and round we dance, finding new ways
To manipulate the base instincts of others to suit ourselves.
Survival: that's all it is.
Survival of the uncaring and selfish.
Taking, taking, always snatching at what we want
With not a thought for consequence
Or the effect we have on others.
I trip, I stumble,
Like a teary-eyed clown in the center ring,
And others watch. They laugh.
They do not see the pain underneath the mask of stone I wear,
Painted with tears of happiness and a smile of hurt.
They take their pleasure from watching my pain,
Sure that they are better people, that they are immune to such misfortune.
posted by nancygal at 8:00 am
2 Comments:
Why We're Not Here
There has been a question
That has crossed everyone's mind
It has plagued us all
From the beginning of time.
It's been asked in churches
They haven't a clue
It's been asked in schools
But they're asking you.
It's been tackled by scholars,
Doctors, lawyers, and judges
And where writers have tried
We find only smudges.
Great thinkers have tried
And tried, and tried again
The closest of these I think
Was Mark Twain.
In the history of man
It remains unclear
And the question is
Why are we here.
To help out a bit
I have some suggestions
To find the right answers
You must ask the right questions.
Are we here to be the type
Who kills and destroys
Who builds themselves bombs
And plays with nuclear toys.
Surely we're not here
To ravage the trees
The rivers, the lakes
The oceans and seas.
I don't think we're here
To learn how to hate
Nor to suppress
Enslave, or mutilate.
I know we're not here
To watch children starving
Not with turkey politicians
Ripe for the carving.
I doubt that we're here
To spread this disease
I doubt that we're here
For any of these.
So what could it be
If none of the above
What of understanding
Compassion, and love.
With life so confusing
And answers so rare
I thought that just maybe
My thoughts I would share.
your humble servant,
Ancient Clown
(Hope that wasn't too long, I really like your work and wanted to share)
and another poem for you.
your humble servant,
Ancient Clown
Post a Comment
<< Home