It is not the fault of those whose life begins

In jeopardy,

For how can you pass blame on the powerless?

     We all seek the meaning for the meanderings

We are and we beg understanding,

We want to understand and be understood

But all never find truth till time passes by.


We each in our own way make contributions,

We each find helplessness healthy

In sordid ways of fragility,

We look we see we touch

We feel but what’s in the heart,

Still be a quest for the paradise promised.


We’re all suffering darkness,

We don’t know why we’re here

Or where our true home is,

We analyse but can never find it,

Never walk within warmth

Never stroll the Gardens of Gods

And inwardly,

     We’re still screaming for

The innocence we are.


     You ask too much!

You ask too much when in essence

The fragile response is to - brittle back,

Slap the hand that feeds for the cry of

Freedom we seek as all become

Prisoner to designs never previously warned,


What is this place we beg?

Why are we condemning each?

Why does the heart bleed so -

Yet we protract a stone face

To all we endure?


     We flirt around edges

Or reasoning without dipping

Fully into whom we could be,

And it’s still pre-historic,

Still aged in all that we claim,

As humanity squanders and presents

Only lies; I’m die-ing inside,

Die-ing each time I try

Understand why?

Earth continues rotating,

Continues its bating of all that is good,

And all may be passing on

To the place they keep cleverly veiled,

And puzzled,

           We’ve lost all that we had

And your help,

Is just never there,

Never a care,

As solemnity beckons

A dead weighted heart,

We’re finding the truth

In our God; is death.


Michael J Waite 16th January 2012. 


◄ Not Mad; An Ode to Needful Things

For Every Jailed Sorrow ►


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