The poet felt like broken verses

shards of rhymes unmended

another material girl covered in credit card class

watered by the storm trickling from the corner of her eye…

all the while he was licking his lips, watching his land turning

like water melting away with a drought

another farmer withering under the glare of summer

another unfulfilled promise leaving him thirsty…

craving

somehow, in nations asunder

these two could each feel the soul of the other

so familiar

somehow, the symphony of a life breaking

sounds the same, no matter where it begins echoing

the longing to be known

and to become knowing

the heart pealing for something better

than the common river of sorrow

running like blood

through the veins of our humanity

the empty writer who only wants to fill another paper

the lover of springtime pleasure, forgotten by the winds of winter

the starving farmer still waiting to see reward for his labor

the adopted children wondering about their father

the banker who invested his life in money, but was only left lonely

these created masses who really only want to know their creator

to be known by the master potter

a world of broken pieces, grasping for the love of a maker

who knows, maybe life isn’t really about us and the enemy

maybe those calling out, left, right, left, right, are only marching us off to war

who knows, maybe there is no them, maybe, life really is just about you and me

but what if there was still something greater

to consider, as a human choir wailing songs of hatred and disorder…

what if our mutual dissatisfaction with the temporary

is a sign that we were all made for eternity

something far beyond what we can see

perfect sanity

wouldn’t this be…shouldn’t this be where we want to be

in a chorus of long forgotten harmony

and the greatest question is…how can we

how can we really be free…from our own arrogance and depravity…