The ProcessionA Poem by RapterjAnd the world of pretend.I know somewhere Somewhere we're all pretending.
Pretending to be happy Pretending to be sad Pretending to feel Just pretending.
It always seems so real. But the moments we fraud the best The ones we never really mean Are often the only ones we remember
I know somewhere Somewhere we believe is real
People are being hurt People are celebrating People are sharing moments Moment that mean nothing.
Sure, we think they do now But man is so conceited Its how a marriage can last 6 months And a heartbreak a lifetime
How death can pass unnoticed How life can do the same
Scrapping and gnawing We fawn for significance But nothing comes so idly.
Sadness and grief Live in a world of pretend Happiness and joy Are built in fraud
The best of our memories And the worst of our days Yes, they happened. But we only pretend they are so powerful.
So what matters? If not the weddings, If not the funerals, If not all the fake fall-down worship?
Those daily routines of pretend. Custom is just a euphamism for play.
Its the man who sits before the unexpected, The being who observes without judgment, The one without expectations, The one without bias.
When we see. Just see. That's when its real. When we have no predetermined outcome by our culture.
Customs, Cultures, Rituals, Religion, Ceremony, Processions,
The passing word for lies. Spread the discord of our own pretend.
I only wish to take part in none of it.
To be random To live in the moment To see what is really around To pass without judgement To reflect on what is The miracle of everyday.
So missed by so many. Just waiting for their turn in the procession, Their part in the con. © 2010 RapterjFeatured Review
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Added on June 22, 2010Last Updated on June 22, 2010 Author |