Philosophical Poems and Essays

I hear the wailing of the mud of flesh and brains,
Heart, Head and Shaman wrestling with identity,
I strain to listen and give some unfailing amenity,
but what remains to do before such endless pains?
To watch you talk and do without meaning or care!
There it is! I have said it! I have given it air
in your stifling world, in the land of sleepwalkers;
my voice flounders inside your battered soul where stains
of blood and war blot out my once pristine presence.
Oh be not surprised! Once I and others were there
awaiting growth and life in your self-centered tomb
and we loved you, sad creature, even in darkness
we adored your potential, even when madness reigns
we waited and cried while the light shone less and less
and there was empty still space in your spiritual room.