Walking through a
Large room replete with
Cheery people
Trying a bit too hard.
Slow-motion bubble,
A hapless figurine
Trapped in a snow globe,
Swirling storm.
Each smiling face,
Insecure diatribe,
Reminds him of other places
He could be, the dreams
He unwittingly left behind
When he decided to
Follow the safe path to
Boredom, uniformity.
It’s easy and spectacularly
Unrewarding to live steeped in
Superficial understanding and
Suppression of underlying meaning.
Issues pending, dangling,
Perpetually postponed review.
Submerged in disorienting darkness,
Perspective bends under the weight of
Expanding delusion, self-congratulation,
Cinching of possibility,
Imagination stifled by fictional reality,
Robust defense of fabricated truth.
A group of angry people met in a room,
Enraged because the beliefs they so
Readily, joyously, ruthlessly
Imposed on others were no longer
Popular; exposed as petty,
Disingenuous, destructive.
They machinated at length,
What to do about this conundrum.
The solution arrived in a flash of
Inspiration: Keep doing the same
Things that got them here.
A group of angry people stayed
Angry as angry people do.
Surveying the rows of houses,
I am struck by their drab
Sameness, a kind of uniform
Dilapidation rendered stark
By a tepid sun. Inside,
Dreams die by the thousands.
A moment suspended,
She stares across the
Crowded room and begins a
Reassessment of everything
That has led to this moment:
Soaring triumphs,
Searing failures,
The story of what has
Come before and what it
Might mean for her future,
The realization that she
Wasn’t always awake
When it all happened.
It was a remark
That made everyone
Pause for a moment and
Perform a reluctant
Self-inventory before
Deciding what to do next.
No one spoke up,
This being a civilized
Place inhabited by
Fearful creatures who
Give wide berth to
The loudest voice and
Keep their objections,
If they had any,
To themselves, allowing
The blowhard to spread
His disease everywhere.
Letting go once again,
Such a routine ordeal,
Bidding goodbye to so many
People and places dear.
It might get easier,
Though it really doesn’t,
He just pretends to
Get used to it,
Pieces of his self
Left behind.
Not sure what to do,
Knowing that it could
Be a catalyst for all
Manner of suffering but
Also morbidly curious.
As usual, an inner struggle
Ensues between giving the
Benefit of the doubt,
Believing in redemption, or
Realizing that some things are
Truly better left unexamined.
Even the best intentions often
Do not turn out well
Because they never have before
And nothing has transpired
To make this time any different.
I remember the moment he
Referred to me as a competitor,
Collaboration pettily smashed
Into a million jagged shards.
Inflated ego,
Simmering insecurity,
Infirm sense of self.
Rapacious hunger for
Power, prestige, position,
Civility – camaraderie – a casualty.
Close the gates, boil the oil,
Needless battle begun.
