No code exists
No plan outlined
beyond child’s play in the sand
No fortune or fate easily discerned
We plow fields with no guarantees,
Make art with little guidance beyond stories we were taught,
Or willingly face.
The given given,
Not by willing hearts,
But carved by idol worshippers who
Defend long held prejudice,
protect cherished memory of
Power and privilege.
They peddle novel thrills to the crowd
Distract from learning better.
So much past remains hidden from view,
buried under useless debris,
stored in attics rarely visited.
Only the bravest dig deep,
Inspect pain and loss,
discover memories of abuse
question distortions
dropped in dirty alleys,
briefly inhabited for sheer entertainment,
between main streets we walk in daylight.
Our days are assemblages of duties, play and expectations
met and regularly unmet.
Imperfect in the most human of ways.
Our nights intended for rest and recovery become nests of turmoil,
Calling for a stiff drink poured to relieve tension,
Take the edge off fantasies, assuage sleep;
A game, a movie watched in reverie
with dangling carrots just out of reach,
Showing us the gold,
Instilling a will to work,
Longing for perfection, never complete,
For dreams of comfort and consolation
Believing impossibilities,
Finally to achieve desires we would die for.
Think, when do we finally get all we actually deserve, as if we knew the meaning of deserve.
Wait impatiently, feet tapping out make believe rhymes as if we had learned the secret code.
Nothing is owed, nothing is earned,
All we can do
Is love imperfectly
Smile knowingly
Act accordingly.
THH
With thanks to Becca Stevens
8/30/24
Thoughts Have Hands 