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*****
*** * the end of the day arrives exhausted do you look into the faces of others who surround you if they let you in don't we all hide something inside which keeps us apart and separates us maintains the distances oh how the strain of daily cares that one has to buttress oneself up against the shock and awe of daily life couldn't it all be simpler why do we do so complicate matters when we could chose to relax and breathe glance up from the ground take a wider look around notice birds, flowers, clouds calibrating the sky and the newness of Spring or of anything why not let our smiles creep into our faces in spite of ourselves yet here we are with our elaborate masks sunglasses to hide who we really are a tiring assignment, a daily task... the fact our eyes don't match our smiles our clothes, manners and expectations frustrations a panoply of uniform disguise manifestations truly put-ons smoke signals and distractions from any real interactions why do we sabotage be the saboteur with our mal odor about life and when we surmise how our dreams are now or not ever yet realized time becomes a commodity we waste and hence is wasted on us forget that we are all made of the same stardust and in the end, how even stars die ***** *** * legal copyright for this work and also by this writer Melissa A Howells and also for this site title Meloo Straight from her Tilt-a-World March 11 2017 5:15pm PST directly to the page/edited later re-edited March 13th, 2017 4am. this isn't a simple, no-brainer poem. there's a lot more complexity than meets the eye, double and triple entendre's. if you haven't found a meaning here than perhaps you can read it again. if you haven't thought about this, or come to a part of your life where you look at your inherent frailty the frailties of those close to you, or the frailties of the world or perhaps you haven't had this thought yet nor this experience. I hope you don't. But, believe me you will some day. I time and date stamp all of my writing. I was writing this at 4am. That might give some of those who don't understand a clue. re-edited briefly April 12, 2017 8:19pm PST Vote for this poem |
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