Meditation of Words

The wound of hate Putting the pressure of blood on the soul. A glass menagerie shattering on the floor. The desire to hurt While never seeing the damage within. A fog depressing and swallowing the spirit Taking the position of a simple pill To remove us from life’s flaws. For behind every sly smile lies an ugly thought, And the joyous flowers of life begin to fade. Rest comes in the stillness of the world, With rain as nature’s lullaby. Stop all cynical thought in their development. Bandage all surviving grudges. For birds never cease to sing, As the sun shall never cease to rise. Even the most concrete of routines surprise us Showing that they too bobble like a boat on open water. We waste precious moments. We whine over ever constant bruises. We waste finite years of living. Like a swarm of mosquitos to a euphoric scent, Our tears collect on the soul. The winds of reality are ever-changing Though we are presently suffering and forgetting to recover.