To have existed is not enough,
importance placed elsewhere
in a culture where life itself
holds little value;
flailing frantically, coming socially
of any positive contribution
now, before, future
on a freakish sliding scale of continuum,
never-ending agony of futile choices
based upon neatly conditioned alternatives.
Who wouldn’t go mad
in the face of this fallacy, illusory
though it might prove to be
in a world short on imagination;
focus instead on inane diversions
of a media-driven circus, replete
with political clowns and deflated footballs.
The path of action is one I have often taken,
even advocated, so why does it seem
to elude me these days?
The intellect, ever mind-full,
providing endless amusement, observations.
In the end, is this helpful or simply deterrent
to accepting the fullness of existence?
The yin, the yang
and the space in between where,
seeking equilibrium amidst chaos
of life even in the slow lane,
I garden, walk, wakefully witness
all the nuance my senses can hold.
I ask myself, if I had to release one faculty,
a child’s bargain really,
what would it be?
Heavens, I could not relinquish sight
though inner vision sustains me,
nor forego twilight dusting dervish skirts
over seas calm or torrential,
cocked ears discerning petrel from pueo,
tang of salt wafting under nostrils
fusing flavor with fragrance.
Life extends wonders to feast upon,
in the thrall of sensual explosions
telegraphing sumptuous messages
to a mind freed from fruitless occupations.