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It's Just Life
Life is an entity forced on wandering souls
Who like Baby Jessica fell into the cosmic well of birth.
It has no fixed attributes or defining borderlines
That map out saleable and dependable routes.
It doesn’t slowly make corrections as it charts a stalwart
Course through all of the landmines that litter the living.
It isn’t the 30 second commercials between your
Lounge-worthy affair with whatever sedation is in between.
Nor does it sit neat and tidy within the frame of a family photo
Taken years ago, now just memory rocks skipped across a synaptic lake.
And it sure isn’t the house with the Julia Child wife cooking dreams
For the 2 ½ kids all dirtied up beyond the pristine picket fence.
All while the suited beau with the pedigree family takes the A-train
To the concrete filled corporate building drowning its made men.
No, those are the ideologies inherent within the hopes of mankind
So as that it can make excuses and keep those smiles simmering.
That is not what life is or the imperfection of the art of living.
Life holds no prejudices against who are entombed in its biology.
The meek and strong alike stumble through its humbling lessons
Until fate’s demerits weigh equally upon their shoulders.
It is as small as the ant corrupting an innocent picnic party
Or big as the innocent man sentenced to die for his shade of skin.
It’s the parents who file for bankruptcy on their anniversary
And the junkie son who bled them dry to get them there.
It is the preacher selling fairy tale psalms to the masses
While poaching on the young and undeveloped
Making life dig its claws in at too early an age for a fragile mind.
It’s the politics of politicians and all the punditry that hyperbole can stand
Damming our reasoning so their ideals of life become ours.
It’s the Prozac filled preteen and the Lithium filled lethargic
All in a hurried race to grasp the last tendrils of normalcy
Waved tantalizingly beyond their fingers as if it were the last bit of currency.
It is the gay man who just wants to be counted as equal
And the crying family who has lost a child within the same storm of hate.
It is love when one is lucky enough to find it
And the broken heart for the one who has lost it.
It is the prince and the pauper, the joker and his tired jest,
The frugal, the frigid, the perfectly imperfect family
And the forgotten grandmother in her Sunday best.
Life is the ever changing war within the art of survival.
Whether it be a battle for one’s own soul and sanity
Or merely the courage to crawl one’s way through tomorrow.
Life has trillions of eyes all gazing in different directions,
All seeing and believing different philosophies of living
Yet in the end they’re all the same in that they will close forever.
