Good Life

I should write a poem

something tells me I should write a poem

about our once-culture;

about being raised once upon a time

when only Steven King wrote about the end of the world,

and R.E.M.

what about this once-culture?  what was it

once?  well,

it once had a meaning, a vision, a platform reasonable and accessible;

it once offered a chance, to some, at some certain times—no, maybe not

everyone everywhere, but the word on the street

had a spark to it, and most all of us could feel it;

it told jokes, had humor, self reflected, took off its’ clothes

all for us, as though we deserved it—

and we did.

alas, we do not seem to anymore.

too many pharmaceuticals?  too many street drugs?  no real parenting?  no hope for so many?  wars?  illness?  God been dead too long?  divorce?  no chance for love?  delinquency?  too much tv?  raped?  abused?  mind not stimulated?  all of the above as the standard events in almost all of our un-blessed bodily, taxable lives?  and above all,

our unawareness, our apathy, our very inbility to give a damn at all.

why might I write a poem?  and how to make this one have a happy

ending, after all?:

I’m 36 years old and I still find passion in the people almost everywhere I go—despite our shortcomings, we still try.  I try to evolve, to learn from mistakes, otherwise life is wasted, and there’s always time

to raise up one’s head and look around

and then look within and understand—there’s always time

till there isn’t,

and that might be why everyone is talking so much

these days.