A Letter.

now listening to: things fall apart by the roots


truth.
a word so basic so natural so known so assumed.
yet, this man so perplexed.
a stutter for every philosophy corrected,
reality disconnected,
and reward expected.
decided early on that he was smart. knowledge.
he made it easy to see.
for himself.
but little did anyone. from where he from.
nimble and, oh, a prick. on his thumb.
on his brain dumb.
a mass confusion of life with
"life".
head on collision. across oak and division.
the irony
of the sturdy tree
and the lack
of unity.
coming together only to displease.

"first lullaby, first son will ever hear..."
Only a ring of plastic keys,
and a song for babies,
to spark his mem. mor. ree.
Of love so dysfunctional, subliminal.
It'd be criminal,
If he steals a tresure so...
tresured.
with out decoding the message in the letter:
truth is a treasure.
on an island.
swim. stroke. paddle.
lungs gasp.
too far away.
a little farther than he can make.
a secret pleasure.
buried deeper than fate.
dig. scrape.
sand in eyes,
with face covered.
romanticly, as if searching for a lover.
that no man (or politically correct woman) can measure.
not a seventh grade
project on making
pancakes,
or milshakes,
or chocolate no-bakes.
Bigger.
yours no worse no better.
"luck" does not help.
only makes you someone else.
the cards you were dealt
will help
you become "you".

No reason. To go on. To kill.
for himself.
of himself.
But to go on.

Truth.
Swim, gasp, dig.
Dirty fingernails wrap upon a lid.
Only to find.
a letter.

Shalom.