There's something real out there.

See the beautiful words in beautiful lines,
see beautiful places with beautiful skies,
All these beautiful things filling my mind.
Come and spend the greater times.

I see your broken face.
convinced of your place.
It's humility, they say,
not to question your fate.
Be who you are, they say
Nothing less shall we tolerate;
Here's the free-est set of laws
you will ever come across.
And I see your broken eyes
as you look on in surprise
but no, after all your tries
Greater things can't come now.

I need someone to betray this to
that what is set up here is not it all
that this education is not even a clue
of what is going to fall.
I need someone to relay this to
that you're more than you have bargained for
but that you've been promised greater things
if you but live a happy life.

Come with me, or without me, better still
And see you've been living on the windowsill.

I Feel

Like a satellite.

Like a sleet-ragged vagrant.

Like a shepherd whose sheep have been taken.

Fed by another who has no real food.

Like a child, forced to remain.

As larger children define my domain.

Like a fish, whose dish was broken.

And they think that little fake castles and pirates will make it ok.

Like an ostrich.

They think that flying is better. Somehow.

They spend all day explaining aerodynamics and the history of winged birds.

But does it matter?

The hawks think so. Just so, the crows.

While they eat their children.

Taught to believe that I deserve not to believe.

Forced to love

As if I knew how.

Can I really live despising all who say they have life?

Can we really continue to discredit those who we're taxed to benefit?

Can you tell me that I'm wrong simply because you've never seen a reason that I'm right?

Like an elephant taught not to be grey.

Taught that long noses are unattractive.

You'd be happier with my appearance if I were not myself?

Maslow would disagree.

But then, living forever is hardly a means of survival.

How do we still punish murder

when men and women are handing each other over to death

in the dark

And calling it Love?

And for the Love of the precious Lord, our savior, an infant, why are you still killing babies?

Our Lady of Expectancy, help us.