I soften my position
so I can understand more.
Cycles of charm, seasons of bliss.
I watch people relate
without getting close,
dance around each other,
brush each other
with the sharp edge
of their words –
a type of dampness
that builds up
and eventually
settles in the bones.
What has a man profited,
if he shall gain the whole world,
if he shall gain the whole world,
and lose his own soul?
I soften my position
so I can understand more.
Seasons of cyclical charm,
holiday cheer
followed by
new year cordials.
I listen to people relate
by sharing their nerves,
anxiously attack
with verbosity
each other’s sense
of personal space –
a type of neurosis,
which heightens
to snap brain stems
loose from cords
of spine.
How has a human profited,
if inner wealth remains untreasured,
if inner wealth remains untreasured,
unearthed and unrestored?
I soften my position so I can understand more.
Cycles of bliss, cheery seasons of charm.
I smell the peopled habitual norms,
demonstrations of affection
towards travelling companions
of life’s journey –
a type of belief
in individuality
that quickens into love
and hastens in the mind.
When has humanity profited,
if in realizing dreams,
if in realizing dreams,
becomes too busy to be kind?
I soften my position so I can understand more.
Seasonal cheer, charming cycles of hibernating snuggly within caves of time.
I taste the race of people
trampling the earth
to find their selves,
compliments of kindred spirits
traversing the globe
in spiraling numbers –
a type of travel
that frenzies
to intentionally lose baggage,
in order to lighten the load.
Why has humanity profited,
if the winning of liberty
if the winning of liberty
declares a war on peace of mind?
I soften my position so I can understand more.
Redefining cheer, charm, bliss
and seasonal cycles of growth.
I touch the people within my heart,
civilizations of like-minded souls
individualized
into single-minded focus –
no type casting,
no profiling of emotional bodies
into shapeless pointless views.
Where has humanity profited,
if in all hearts everywhere lie
if in all hearts everywhere lie
dormant dreams of more.
~~ Other People's Fingerprints ~~
Sometime after 1821 Henri Frédéric Amiel wrote;
“The man who has no inner life is a slave to his surroundings, as the barometer is the obedient servant of the air at rest, and the weathercock the humble servant of the air in motion.”
