Reality

photo by Donny

A poem by Donny Lee Duke

In a large distribution gap saw man,
a wide, territorial spree.
A trouble on islands,
they could not chapter this.
They saw each one to blame
but themselves,
or if they saw their faults
they didn’t recognize them in the field of play.
This screamed solution.
No power on earth could stop it.
Everyone saw themselves the leader of the play,
even when no leadership bore.

Listen to me I’m human—
social media post after social media post.
And they all cried:
I’m the development of man;
listen to me.
Nobody was a warehouse
of the exact thing in ourselves we needed to see.
This was how we play ball.
The game itself had no meaning.
We were Earth flat.
Nobody spoke our language
or could write up their own,
but they kept speaking.

Well the only thing I could do was cause trouble
with the abundance of you and I
in such a routine I told you so,
in such an abundance of I told you so.
I don’t think you understand this.
I think we are all spokesperson for humanity,
but what we are speaking we can’t say.
It’s all void of meaning,
not big enough to show the problem.
We nosedive into it
and break apart upon the seas.
It’s terrible inane,
and we can’t get past chapter 1.

Take it upon yourself to show this to us,
and no one sees it.
Everyone is a brick wall
when they need to see something
they don’t want to see.
Can we see nationalism in India?
Can we see Sri Aurobindo?
And we see Sri Aurobindo?
You read the Torah?
If God Himself told you to change it,
would you?
Muhammad’s infallibility,
tell me he’s not
something human.
Kill people because he is,
and that just puts us down.
Everybody see the Son of God?
Everybody see the fatherless God
born from sin?
And that’s how I believe in miracles,
excluding reality.
Are we alright with atheists?
I don’t want God to exist;
therefore He doesn’t.

Now let’s just start with standard room.
I hate bad people,
and they should be punished.
Oh great we saw man,
and wanted us to rub our nose in it.
A holistic reality isn’t a thing among us,
and here we are at where we’re at,
and no one could care less about reality,
and that’s my thought for the day,
where this poem sits in your lap.
Can you grasp inside it?
Can you get behind it?

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