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Contemplative Vacancy.jpg

Contemplative Obliviousness

 

 

There’s never enough of those old milk toast lyrics

Borrowed from all of the stale white bread tunes

Revolving around the lush vacuous sounds

That burst with the import of party balloons

 

A shower of  fluff  from substance-less nothings

Catching the ear of the flock and the herd

Echoing chants that keep the reservoirs filled

For drinking in the hum of each meaningless word

 

It’s the song that every sad mime learns to sing

Entrapped in a self-made glass prison cell

Twisting the notes that bear little resemblance

To the false tales that they will all proudly tell

 

But

​

Souls that can’t rest without finding their voice

In the mass and the mangle of insight they clutch

Question the veracity of what’s spit in the wind

To seek out and feel what the rest dare not touch

 

 

s. paul (Nov. 2021)

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