Almost a Religion

in the morning I am reduced

to plates of cheetos and potato chips,

attempting to satisfy the great beast

with whom I share this life,

chained upon these prison walls,

where we survive while sinking deeper

into 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 too 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 together we defy the fury,

providing mystery to this epiphany of

endless rushing fools,

where not a one survives,

despite 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,

down winding, endless roads

for which there is no choice,

only illusions of options,

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

it sucks all there is into it’s

deep dark hole,

some hold on a little longer than the rest,

but eventually even they are swept away

by the weight of those standing above them,

waiting their turn for the great slide

into this vast and empty wasteland

called life;

mowing the lawn,

on cloudy, rainy Sunday afternoons,

can be most rewarding,

depending upon the method

with which it is approached

and the spirit in which it is given;

in fact it is

almost a religion.

.

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