I couldn’t drown anymore-
a pounding racket was recklessly knocking
at my ears, and my eyes wished to see light,
and my voice keeps disappearing –
“It just has to be the truth knocking at my door!”
I wandered streets dark and empty
following nothing but my gut
at long last I figured out what I had to do.
Questionably asking questions all along the way.
everyone is sitting, waiting, watching for the words to just come out
but the truth is magic and the future is unknown.
Illuminating nights of –
I swore I had exited the city
in order to hear more clearly
where the noise was coming from
shades and shadows
were weighing down my spirit
and in seek of light, I drifted.
We’re animals babe
and the hunger was growing
to find a setting to better fit my mood.
I am all about new beginnings
the kind that hold no old relics to lug around
because the weight of the world has begun
to take it’s toll on my now fragile frame.
I couldn’t tell you if I found the sunlight, or it found me
but the palm tree-lined streets here must
understand that green is my favorite color.
I feel a frantic panic on the streets
everyone is so desperately trying to hold on,
to hair, skin, nails, beauty, youth, an image-
a projection of what life actually is.
The things that garner attention to an exterior
of an empty house.
Life is knowing that we are all empty houses
until we can prove that we in fact know:
It is the attention to detail on the interior
that makes a house a home.
I know poor rich men
I know rich poor men, too.
The panic grows as the distractions,
they become more apparent
and the fear-pushers are everywhere we look,
especially and most frequently at the machines
who so conveniently seem to hold all of the answers.
Nothing in life is meant to be so easy.
Sitting across from across from a man with a hunger
to be given a reason to understand a lot of what we see
isn’t necessarily what it seems.
Why do we wish to destroy everything we have ever worked to build?
Be honest for once with yourself and re-read my last statement and
tell me who is the real victim in that situation?
Do victims need to exist?
Do humans really only use ten percent of our brains?
Is that a reason to stop a hunger for truth and knowing?
War is formulated by the men who sell the guns.
The ones who profit on the narrowing down of human-existence
while the ones who sit seemingly unaffected,
with heads down filling that possibly tiny portion of usable brain
with things that don’t actually matter, being used as stickmen
while innocent people lose their lives.
Drooling over mansions, and porn, and gluttony
filled with nothing but an idea.
The mass of an object is what holds it’s meaning
in the space where it is stationed.
Empty houses take up space for no good reason.
While people sleep on boxes on the street.
Doesn’t this make you guilty,
even just a little bit?
Does it really matter if you hold someone’s hand when you are jumping to your death off of a cliff?
Are you a spirit that is uplifting or are you dragging others down?
I refuse to believe that ,as humans born with legs in order to be mobile,
we’re meant to spend so much time sitting down.
There is no follow button to click about swimming to the shore
were the truth calls your name with a promise to never let you down.
I’ve already said too much. I better get to swimming now,
because it’s gonna take my whole life
and that damn clock just keeps on ticking.
© Cat King
Photos © Sterling P. Taylor