i live on the precipice . . . of continual tears

i live on the precipice

of continual tears

i stand at the banks of the river

where man’s anguish

flows into forgetfulness

that ocean where all is lost

and tossed to and fro

upon the waves of absolution

i continually ask

what is the solution

to this pain in my heart

will i find cessation

upon the breasts of another lovely

who pretends they know of love

who i ask

is willing to sacrifice life

at such a level of denial

through life’s trials

and tribulations

and travail

my tears are right here

waiting for reason

to speak the liquid-ness

of their being-ness

for man seems

to be seeing less

as time marches forward

and toward that direction

of inflection

seeking detection

to enact election

of more than an erection

our correction

of this deflection

to the convection

of divine connection

within our circumspection

is but suspect

as we seek to detect

that we have the power

to elect

who we are

who we want to be

and how we see our selves

and we are blindsided

by our blinded

aspirations

for celebration

without deliberation

lacking the elation

to foster elevation

of spirit

and understanding

of the equation

in this situation

for we have lost

our persuasion

to enact liberation

or balance

for the valance

has been pulled

shut

and there is not light

but

what are we to do

do you know

or are you just blowing smoke

while i choke

with the yoke

of your reason

season after season

while trying to be pleasing

while you are teasing me

with the goodies

and all the children

and the hoodies

put on their footies

to keep from cutting their feet

in the street

where completeness

can not be found

upon the ground

in any town

and momma still got her night gown on

curlers in her hair

for she ain’t caring

about such things

while Sarah

sings

with her Vaughness

and this mess

goes on

and on

and on

beyond the break of dawn

and this is the test

i think

as we sink

to the murky bottom

of this sea

where no one sees

naught but the pleas

of the hungry children

in the wilderness

and if you do not understand

the demands

of this man

i understand

how you feel

if you feel

anything at all

that is real

which is why

i do call

this day

for a new way

and until someone says

the magic word

that can be heard

by the herd

in this absurd

contextual

inflexual

surreality

of humanity

immersed

in insanity

i shall stand here

on the precipice of tears

continually

feel me

(c) 6 November 2011 : William S. Peters, Sr.