Pioneers made mince meat out of grass,
hearts tend to mold when made of brass.
Can we listen to the stars inside our hearts
dissect our wrongs and admit our parts
in the human condition?

Philosophers try to pre-determine,
light bulbs act sometimes bright or dim,
but we are still awake at night
reading books by the waxing moon light.
Some nights are just too perfect.

The stones we hold keep holding us down;
Spinning, a nuclear ball we go around,
we turn dizzy and fall into a six foot hole
The earth becomes for us the bowl
which holds the soup of our soul.

But no matter what, the vapors rise
to diamond constellations, we surprise
the whole universe with our capacity
to worry at speeds of escape velocity
and no one burns better than me at the speed of light.

02/08/2014

Posted on 02/08/2014
Copyright © 2025 Jared Fladeland