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Poem

Somewhere in the pretty petty imaginary illusion of delusion
There lies a truth an edifice of search between obtuse confusion

Windows like brick walls and concrete blocks birthing the light
Nails to be nailed screws to be screwed with monumental sight

A life a building fortress sand castle beach hut nutter’s dream
Maybe a prison with towers barbed wire fences mindful scream

Some multi storied paradise no choke on apple’s stem or core
No passion fruit in torture chambers shackles behind and to the fore

No hidden attic and no cellar no stellar fantasy no quick descent
For now simply one dimension deserted plain hopes to ferment

Scraping no skies a cave hovel card board box a bombed out grave
Nothing to hold onto no graces left spent and ravished naught to save

Is it magic thought provoked delusion of illusion alluded distortion
Who knows does it matter I suppose it does in incomplete reapportion 

Some are born in a manger on the fields of labour some with a silver spoon
Surely some would rather have foundations a ceiling not some lonely moon

Get me not wrong as singing the praises of romantic poverty and dearth
Icy cold and freezing bones do not bear up to sound safe privilege in birth

Yet from the scraping nib and luxury of pen in hand and philosophic mind
Not wishing to lack compassion nor cementing over cracks so misaligned

We are the builders of our lives to some extent despite the vagaries so vast
Can we find a staircase upwards some sliding pole to reach out for the past

In such compassion regardless of painful structures and abandoned need
Is some notion some motion of change and nourishment star dust to feed

In God we trust nihilism architecture Karma fate Nirvana hard core grind?
No valid answers but questions loving search for quiet mindfulness in kind

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