Not an angel
Not a curse
The universal temptress
The universal deception
And yet
So often the saving grace
Of those desperate to cling to tradition;
The path to quick success
And the road to quick failure
You turn angels into villains
And thieves into leaders
You cause the rise of great cities
And the wars that turn these cities
Into masses of smoking rubble
You're the source of our bare necessities
And yet you're unnatural
You built a house
The crudesr little house
But you thought it was beautiful.
Said it reminded you of someone
Someone from far away from decades ago
Someone I have never met
From a place I've never been.
Such a crude uneven house
Yet you call it home
And we all have a place we call home
It needs no name
No title
It is only a feeling
And yet when they see
That crude little house
The children laugh
I speak of the places
You see in your dreams
And the places you go every day.
The elaborate castles in the air
And the little red houses we live in.
The magnificent cities you
See in your imagination
And the ones you've been to a thousand times.
I speak of the good days
And the bad days.
Exciting promotions
And terrible migraines.
The best experiences you've ever had
And the nights you cried yourself to sleep.
The wilted flowers and broken promises
Mixed with soft music and great deeds.
Unless you are dust in the wind,
For that's all words are good for
After their meaning
Has been forgotten.
You cannot expect
To dine on promises,
For they provide no nourishment.
All they can give you
Is a momentary sense of security
And a temporary feeling
Of trust in the other person.
And this only lasts
Until they have either been
Fulfilled or swept out
Into the sea
Of events forgotten
Until day's end,
Speak no more
Of what you'll do
In the night.
The things you'll
Do in the night
Will be affected
By the words you
Say in the morning.
Speak no more
Of yesterday morning
Or tomorrow afternoon.
Speak no more
Of the things that
May happen
Or the things that
Imagine a story
That's stuck in the middle.
The middle never changes
After the first plot point.
And no one wants change,
No one wants
The story to end.
This place
Is our place.
This story
Is our story.
We are the simple ones,
The ones who don't want it
Any other way
Because we don't know
It any other way exists.
Why the world turns
And why time passes.
I haven't a clue
Why people exist
Or why there are dogs
And other such things.
I haven't a clue
How these things can seem
So simple and clear
And yet so illogical
And random.
And why we wonder
Why things are this way
And not some other way.
And the worst part is,
I haven't a clue
To be wanted
Loved
Looked up to
Desired
Respected
Supported
Something we all need
Yet some of us
Are disliked
Despised
Detested
Disdained
Discarded
Like old diapers,
Why
Wherefore
Or to not exist
To live
Or to die
To believe
Or to question
To love
Or to hate
To decide
Not because you have to
But because it makes sense,
What's the use
Of an ignorant life
Of mindless indecision
For just being
Just existing
Just living then dying
The greatest
The fastest
The strongest
The wisest
The one
On the top;
What's so great
About being great
What's so special
About being special
What's so awesome
About being awesome
Honestly
I couldn't tell you
Because honestly
I have no idea.
We were foolish
And confused
We thought challenges
Were easy so
We laughed at pain
And cried for joy
Whenever one arose;
When we were young
We knew volumes
About nothing
We told everyone
Who would listen
That we knew it all
But the world we knew
Was a fantasyland
And reality
We call love,
Where does it come from and
Where does it go when we
Put ourselves on pedestals and
Tear each other down;
What is this thing
What is its purpose and
What does it mean,
Why do we give it
To some and not all,
Why do we need it and
What is it made of;
What is this thing
We call love?