Almost a Religion

in the morning, I am reduced

to plates of cheetos and potato chips,

attempting to satisfy the great beast within,

whom I share this life with,

chained upon prison walls,

surviving, all the while sinking deeper

into these pits of ultimate depravity;

can it sink any lower?

occasionally it becomes far too personal,

as I take a step back,

taking refuge among the reality of it all,

finishing up the chores and lesser known deeds

along the way, for which there is no thanks,

even from those who know it all to well,

it is then reason comes through,

sharp and crystal clear,

like lightning bolts on dark, starless nights,

showing limitations for what they are;

and how little there really is;

we are as nothing, when compared to this storm,

yet still we defy the fury,

providing mystery to this epiphany of endless rushing fools,

where not a one survives, in spite of mighty cries

for merciful solutions;

that which means the most,

is usually the least of it,

in the eyes of those who see only for themselves,

as this great dream continues on,

winding down endless roads

for which there is no choice,

only illusions, changing shape with a wave of the hand,

twisting and weaving,

into something new and fresh,

until the outer layer is removed,

only to find the same old story,

inside brand new skin,

like a giant vacuum,

sucking all that there is

into its deep dark hole,

as some hold on a little longer than the rest,

but eventually, even they are swept away

by the weight of those standing above,

waiting their turn, for the great slide

into this vast, empty wasteland,

called life;

mowing the lawn,

on cloudy, rainy, Sunday afternoons,

can be most rewarding,

depending upon the method

by which it is approached,

and the spirit in which it is given,

in fact;

it is almost a religion.

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