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As It Is

I have seen without seeing the mysteries of the night showing the darkness lying deep within the souls of the people
The Souls of this world
I have seen without seeing the hope that no longer exists that was splattered against the walls of dreams diminished
I have felt without touching the sadness
the anger
The turmoil that has welcomed itself into the lives of so many without invitation
stroking the head of the unconsenting child
caressing the shoulders of the unconscious widow
I have heard without hearing the cries of disparity
of humility
of anguish of those coaxed into the line of false prosperity of false reality of false representation of the mindset that was created to contain, restrain, and restrict the bird whose wings have grown without feathers
whose down soaked in oil has given it no motivation to fly
for the ways of this world are relentless
Preying only on the weakened
Those whose paths were not an accumulation of crystal stairs or yellow brick roads
Whose shoes were made of concrete leaving them unable to close their eyes and click their heels three times in chants of there’s no place like home
Because for them home was not a home, but instead an elaborately painted cardboard face whose doorway lead into the hallways of hungry days and sleepless nights and rooms that brought forth more reasons to defend , to fear, and tear soaked pillows from thoughts of all that they would never be
For as it is, is how it always was
But rather than give it to us as slop in a bucket of disdain
They gave it to us on a plate of brass, elaborately decorated with green leaf lettuce and just a hint of lemon to make it last a little longer.

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