I step out from the shade of an old oak tree
The sun burns hot, the grass is brown, the earth parched,
In the distance a lonely ditch awaits
Canteen water I pour over my arms and see my tanned skin glisten
Early morning start, a day's work ahead
I step back under the shade, lean against the tree like a worn shovel
I'll let the boss fire me
I got this thought inside my head,
I’m perplexed, confused about where I am, who I am, what am I?
God above, or sideways, or beside me? God as a dream, an illusion, a perplexing thought?
Questions like these I do ponder
That pay out for human suffering—when, when? The chips cashed in, life as a universal gamble, a game of high risk. A shake of the wrist,weighted dice. The days we play fixed. Pre-determined by who you are? The genes in your veins? God beside you? God as a delusion-a lonely illusion?
These answers I don’t know as I walk forlorn on Whitman’s beach.
The water’s edge. Waves crashing in violent rhythm.
This thought inside my head is a cadence now.Like soldiers singing on a long march, army of one. All of humanity, I conclude, have a thought inside their head, perplexed about what am I?
The Living Dead
1 day ago