
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
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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)