Ghost Potential

Sitting in a field, calm and quiet
Thinking about it all, restless as a riot.
I have every reason to feel joy,
realizing my life is no longer a ploy
to obtain wonderful things.

Very little noise, a little bit of sunlight,
The breeze ever so slight.
A still moment captured,
Not quite raptured,
Comfortable, but will not excite.

A day like any other,
Nothing really to change
Why now do I wonder,
Is this so strange?

A turbulent rainstorm, not anywhere found
A peaceful afternoon, my joy should be unbound.
My restless desires, turbulent and never-ending,
No such thing as satisfaction, so I shall stop pretending.

To this impossible idea I am attached.
It is to tranquility I am latched.
Attempt at freedom I may try,
Day in, day out, until I die.

At the horizon I stare,
And unwillingly I bare,
No burden but the future
As I am unable to suture
the wound caused by prayer.

The Best Holiday

The greatest gift is to be born alone
a human being, not a drone.
Misfortune indoctrinates to a world of the group
scratching around on the floor of a coop.

Those that dance with the power from
the madness of the mind hath numb
a life free from the difference of each,
dependent groups they now must preach.

A plague from the hand of the state
already dead, our funerals wait
Sustained by a repeating virus,
day in, day out, never-ending crisis.

Power obscured by the light of hope,
an individual speaks out, then must cope
with insidious attacks from those without reason.
Ignorance approaches, ‘tis the season.