This poems far from finished

We have lies and deception
and a conception of the truth
in relation to what’s been tolerated.
It’s a relative truth
where we analyze
and categorize
those types of lies
that help us
tell these things apart.
What we’re fighting
is acceptance without understanding.
The way we share information
from a media
that`s in formation
with our political leaders
that keeps us
at their disposal, so
this poem’s far from finished.

It’s the removal of acceptance
where it’s our very stance
that’s been challenged
by the self-righteous
who have condemned
those self-made men and women
and made them too tired to fight
and ignite those fires they once had, so
this poem’s far from finished.

Because there’s more to be relinquished
through these ways
we soon dissolve
with the way we play things out,
rushing to work and school
to learn and use tools
where we evolve by comparison
to involve us all in unison
because we want to move forward,
forward, but
this poem’s far from finished.

It’s only here I can enunciate
that it`s ourselves that we domesticate
with lifespans to alleviate
while we watch ourselves deteriorate
into the very air we breathe.
We need to recycle our own cycles
and make nature what we nurture
as a single souvenir
where productive habits are formed
and we can all rest warmed
by the blankets that we’ve made ourselves,
but we cant, so
this poem’s far from finished.

Now I’m pathologically obtuse,
but I came to induce an idea
and slowly I logically induce my neighbors
with these domestic donations
of all my intentions
because I want what’s best for us all.
I want dormant lives uplifted
and the critical
to be more critical of themselves,
but until then
this poem’s far from finished.

I want our doors to remain open
so that our houses
will embrace those strangers
without shelter
and our hardwood floors will creek and crack
with the release of those sorrows.
I want us all
to have the freedom
to enter different conversations
with our own observations
and naturally have the knowledge
and confidence
to hold our own.
I want our leaders willing to be shown
that they sometimes make mistakes
and to have what it takes to lead us
they must have what it takes
to self-analyze
and scrutinize
some of their own decisions,
because decisions for them
are a way of life for us, so
this poem’s far from finished.

You see,
I have a lyrical lack of rhythm
and I dance like it’s a symptom
of some crazy distress
in an S.O.S.
that’s been split right down the middle.
There seems too many times
that I feel like this
and those lists begin to combine,
but the biggest reason to why I leave this open
is because something’s begun to shine.
It’s the eyes and ears
of what we’ve come to fear
being the last of the unrestrained.
The ones that sneak past
and make poverty last
and wars their little games.
It all rolls on from people with control
who navigate to counter balance
and we gravitate to
those comforts we knew
and our often hidden talents.
So until it all dies down
we must all share the blame
because doing nothing
is still being the same
when we keep to these plain plans,
so until some day
I will have to say
that this poem’s far from finished.

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About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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