Dropping the Other shoe

The other shoe has to drop, but it seems maybe an end is in sight, the plight of those in the Middle East, some looking for a homeland, all concerned with peace. Yet, are they really? Its often said that actions speak louder than words and all I can hear is the consistent ringing of my ears from the continuing bombardment perpetrated by fanatics, not just of the religious persuasion either. I can see terror lashing out at the soul while ravaging the body, blood stained streets, cleaned by the same street sweepers that clean the streets that I walk. Morosely confronted by the thought of what cleaning solution, what mixture removes blood from cement, or brick and curious as to whether that same solution can cleanse the soul?

In that same region, home to the birthplace of three religions, the cradle of civilization, the attention of the global nation is transfixed by what might happen next. We stand on guard like idiot savants watching the news mistaking sounds bites for truth! Truth?

Whose truth and at whose expense? Where great kings and queens used to come together, where once great empires stood, hanging gardens and entire civilizations knowledge weighed heavily on the hearts and minds of men who had to balance their desire for power with the will of invading armies. Armies whose appetite for destruction included turning back the hands of time by pilfering, then looting, then burning and destroying this history, tradition and cultural awareness to replace it with, well, their own and where the people would not go willingly, or quiet enough for the powers that be, THEY were eradicated, simply wiped from the face of the earth.

Times have changed indeed, or have they?

People in search of a homeland, people in search of self, people in search of meaning and people in search of wealth. Oh sure, times have changed, but PEOPLE remain the SAME, playing still an age old game. It is as old as time and still people in search of illusive truth justify the quelling of the sprit of youth.

For with the innocence of youth the spirit can feel searching for answers that somehow is real and here I am. Contemplating far off lands and the wishes of men with best laid plans. Like pipe lines and oil for societies rich yet entirely poor I think that’s why we still know war.

Like lions and tigers and bears we fight for riches without despair. With nary a care for our time and space we’re confronted by images surely in poor taste, ours! With all the elegance and class that money can buy we drive our vehicles while people do die.

At our expense and in our place the other shoe now falls and I wonder is any are aware at all. We’re killing ourselves one barrel at a time, drunk on oil as if it were wine. Deposing tyrants where once civilizations story was told, where aqueducts and math, the science of thought and religion did unfold.

Not today, nor tomorrow or yesterdays sorrow unchain us from our past and the revolution coming most surely must last. Go get your oil and effect regime change but realize this its us and our basic instinct that remains the same.

SDM

The Look of Love

Even from the opposite side of the room,
wearing your brilliant costume from a day gone by,
the hippie heart dressed in hippie garb,
you absolutely shine.
Your smile lighting up this dimly lit basement
and I amused as no matter where you are I feel the presence of your spirit.
I often comment on your spirit rare as fodder that the masses enjoy.
An opiate of emotional surrender as I surely do,
each and every time I look at you,
think of you,
become aware of you –
As by divine plan this love has landed complete.
With ultimate splendour and an amazing feeling inside
I’ve become aware that I no longer must hide
but instead shine bright through words that only you can inspire,
all from the other side of the room,
or universe,
for your shine travels at the speed of light.

SDM