The Retina of the Soul
When all opinions are the ink of newsprint
Repetitious in the speech
A presented little gift
Wrapped up in the tinsel glittering eye full
Of something called the truth
But is bought the cheapest wall paper
To cover up all the crack inside their proof
Religion is the grand avenue of neon
The bright and sucking casino of a thoughtless heaven
The immediate acquiescence
To accepting disavowal and asking for forgiveness
A panacea for the sickness
An ever ready cure all
For the chill we feel inside the retina of our soul
And all the countless implications
Wrapped in the need for some ready cash
Become the excuses we use
To explain the seeming lack of love
We become the property and commodity
Of the society for sale
Slaves to the mediocre shadow of ourselves
Survive; it’s the least you can do, while you are alive
It’s the most you can achieve
In your precious and be-gifted life
To cling knuckle white and bleeding
To the dogma of your skin
Competing with every human
For the little you have been bequeathed
There is more sorrow in the numbness
Than any of us can conceive
How split and unrequited
How fearful we believe
And how desperately we see
When perception hangs on beauty
And our tears echo from how much of beauty, we really need
Even though entertainments and all their useless possessions
Fluffy warm us in our overly implied contentment
Keeps us from detecting or even questioning
The chill we feel inside the retina of our soul
Copyright © Colin Mitchell Williams | Year Posted 2011
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