Take It Slow

I hope it’s

One of those

Slo-Mo

Days,

The kind you get

When your mind can let

The haze of pain

Drift away

And still gaze upon it,

Keeping you sane

And honest

When it rains

Before the rays of the sun

And the moon

Come through

In the fray,

Renewing dead grass,

Once burnt and grey,

Now here to stay,

And the morning dew,

At last,

Can relax

And lay,

For, today,

Time won’t pass

The same.

No ancient past

Or Jurassic shame

To slowly mash

Your brain

Into goo

Like acid

Left in a

Plastic container

Or a massive flame

Consuming a picture frame

In a disaster.

Screw it!

Let your body get spastic.

A drastic change

Never came

To those who asked

If being estranged

For simply being strange

Was just a curse

(Though, surely,

It’s a pain

Worse than

Any hurt)

If, in turn,

They never worked

Through

The first

Hurdle,

Choosing

To be “perfect”

At running

In circles

Like gerbils

Instead of

Getting fed up,

Punching Life

In the gut

Or until it

Turns purple.

Shame slows us

‘Til we stop

Or drop dead.

See how

It can be

A means to an end?

It’s never enough

To stuff feelings down

Inside,

Punished and tried

By fragments of mind.

This is why

Life can’t be defined

By the things that we do,

Actions based on

Our pride,

Oftentimes

When it’s long been denied

In ourselves

And in a world

That we built

To divide.

We work and WORK

Through that hurt,

Rats in a cage

Trained to stay

In our lanes,

Forcing ourselves

To squeeze through

A maze

As we gnaw on our mange,

Hungry, crazed, and half-amazed

As we turn fast

And race

Towards that last

Corner

In order to make

First place.

We find there

Aren’t any treats

After all

And no praise,

Only a

Wrinkled

Face

As your kids

Call the coroner

And put you

In a vase

After

Your body

Cremates.

Are you dazed

As you

Gaze upon these

Frivolous ways?

How we’ve exchanged

Our days

Based on

How we’ve been

Raised?

Your best bet

Is slowing down

When upset,

Sinking into

Cement

When there’s no way

To vent.

Hell-bent,

Heaven-sent …

It’s hard to tell

What’s benevolent …

Stay in the shame.

It’s a moon

Stuck in June

Never able to wane,

Or a tune

In your head

That keeps you insane,

Or the stain

As you bled

On a get-away train

When you tried

To escape

But got outpaced by your brain …

The pattern’s the same.

The longer you wait

(If you can try

Not to faint),

The more apparent

The change.

It’s not

About winning

An Oscar,

Feigning Joy

When you’re somber.

It’s that slo-mo day

When you saunter

Farther and farther

Away,

When your problems

Seem passé

And they can’t even

Weigh on your mind

Anymore

Without feeling cliched,

Like some boring anime

Story

You only watch

Halfway.

It’s those adventurous days

That stay with you,

The ones where

You look out yonder

Beyond the harbor

And the views alone

Make the hard times

Softer.

When I wander

By the water,

Looking on

In sonder,

I often ponder

By a pond

About the last place

I saw her :

A daughter

And her father,

Feeding all

The otters,

For starters,

Then feeding cattle

Their fodder.

They reminded me

Not to squander

My time

In squalor

And so

I fly like a condor,

Soaring if only

For rhythm

And rhyme,

For poetry

Is often

Even fonder

To me.

So there’s

No time

To be bothered.

We’ve

All

Hit the lottery.