I Can'T Complain At All
I can't complain at all
Even when television sound
Floods through every crevice
When the mind is pulled in each direction
Over the sound, not to mention the carpet,
Comedy dries out in the dull, hopeless present,
Still, you feel trapped
In the not complaining at allness
When the standard for yourself
Becomes so high an undefined
It seems to evaporate entirely,
Tell me, you: what were you suppose to be doing now?
In your closer to perfect circumstance?
In what parallel life are you grabbing the moments
And in your hands
Through your veins, the very aura of life
Becomes joyous energy?
Why this phantom burden?
After all,
You can't complain at all.
And even if you did
You'd feel childish,
Less than this holy, objective sum.
For the slipping fact is
You're always more
Than the whole moment before.
The mind saddens as it grows,
As a child's loving gaze
Grows soft on favorite shoes
Worn
And outgrown.
Tomorrow's new pair awaits.
A new world to be met.
To complain is a failure
To look ahead.
Copyright © Matt Caliri | Year Posted 2007
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