We ease along through busy days
and so much seems to be the same.
Weeks can pass and months at last,
and then before you know,
a year was here and now it’s gone,
forever in the past.
So when a day pops up like this
that shocks the mortal senses,
it stops the clock and shakes the cage,
it rattles at the fences.
The gilded guards we place upright,
lined up on the edges,
maintain routinely garrisons
of golden glib pretenses.
They line the way
as if to say
no shock, no bad shall enter.
Our days roll on
through dusk, through dawn,
our thoughts safe down the center.
So days like this,
that Sasquatch bitch,
that roars her wrath and loud,
she snatches life,
she belches strife,
dispels the comfort out.
And ferrets at the fair façade
that modern life conceals:
The pretense of the creature
that protects us from the real.
Let’s grab a moment here before
the quotient quickly fades,
a product of the clever trick
Distraction likes to play.
That creature Comfort quells the mood
and placates all the masses.
So easy to recline you see –
fat upon our asses.
Comfort softly shields away
the wak’ning of the senses,
then slowly slips them back into
their perfect pleasure tenses.
And life slides back,
then joins the slack
of op’-jawed johns of levity.
Thinking drops,
talk non-stop,
the soundbite rules in brevity.
Photo Credit: Garry Knight, Flickr
