I’d love to have my world
painted in gorgeous,
but life is not that.
Life is not painted in gorgeous.
Life is printings of dated maps,
covering unsightly holes
in the walls of,
“I didn’t ask for this.”
The curse of humanity,
woven to repeat history.
The world is beyond my gaze
of masterful praise.
It spoke to me through
the rhythm of the waterfalls.
I look the other way-
A picture I once saw,
now hanging
on the holey walls
of my memory.
A river stone to save
The Moment.
