Why?

Let's say that we live to be happy
and that all the world is filled with love and thoughts
of love and that we lie all down
in days of endless joy.
What then?
Do we live silently through the days of work
and the days of melancholy.
For why,
for why do we do it?

Rage

I conceal my rage
from day to day
It nonetheless consumes me.
I cut down trees
of hate and build
forests into fences,
walling out my mind
from painful people,
things half hidden
in the gloom.
The world sees only
sullen irritation.
It consumes me
to become like this.
The flow of
casual conversation
eludes me.
I am useless
in a chat.
It angers me
to say that.

Frustration

It's not going well today.
I slept too much.
I feel like shit.
I just can't think.
I just can't do it.
What can I do at times like this.
I'll have a cup of coffee.
Perhaps the thing to do.
Then down to work.
But what to do?
It's done it seems.
There's nowhere else
to go today
but back to where I've been before.
And that's the worst of it.
A dream of half a lifetime
spent on drivel
nonsense tasks
to earn a meager feed
and keep myself
from raving in the streets.

Canyons

Down deep canyons of the mind
the light lessens perceptibly
to where it shines softly
in the twilight.
Dreamscapes pursue
thoughts of sweet
memories in time
stopped like silent
pictures of the past.
Life goes on
in spite of what we do.
The light is on
no matter what we do.

Surgery

The old pavilion looks out across
the Park now strewn with yellow
in the leaves of autumn.
I sit quiet in my shadowed room
waiting for the dawn and the needle's prick.
Then I will sleep; perhaps forever.

For days I am lost in the bright tower
of ceaseless dreams.
The terror of the green light
clouding my brain.
Waking, not knowing where I am or when.
Caught with a pipe down my throat,
All I can do is choke.
Will I die? It seems so.

I must rest or gag to death.
Tied to machines,
I am machine, like Frankenstein,
wheeled, like a monster to my room,
where the light from the Park
let’s me know I have survived.

I survived, but was it worth it?
Life has been a torture
I think God tried to take me then, but failed.
Now he lets me know it,
He could have done it,
Would have done it,
But something made him choose
to let me live a while,
to live a while in hell.