I often realize this throughout my 23 years alive, what seems like many other lifetimes, past live’s in the world of people, humankind as a whole seem not to reach out to others they don’t get to know the real person behind what they show others they could be angry at the world or at people or at family or the past.
For example we, human or not, fear our own madness monsters, darkness but some of us still, with people surrounding us, get lost from time to time, forget who those people are, sometimes feel like them or the world is against us all so we, in our own ways, hide, fight them, grow to love what we hate in our selves, see cold hatred stared in the eyes of the people like what is this freak, like you’re not human anymore.
It’s like we’re standing alone on the edge of long high 1000 or a 100,000,000 foot cliff slowly being pushed over while that stuff we hate, our hatred, our madness, that monster inside is not human anymore as it would seem as we age, grow older, either can’t run away from or get away from, either hide or escape it.
We seem to forget as humans or non-humans that we all have something, we need a helping hand to let us know there are people in the existing hell-hole of a world we either see as friend foe or both, we truly can’t decide due to the illogicial method of wanting to exam, observe people’s every nature, mannerism, action, behavior, body language, gesture, humans studied to the fullest.
We unusually remember the face they hide behind, assume it’s fine while deep inside they’re scared, looking for the help they seek, can’t find but often lack the means to save themselves but look strong on the outer but not the inner.
There, screaming SOMEONE, ANY ONE, PLEASE HELP IN BLOODY TEAR-FILLED EYES.
They don’t know who or what will save them; they try everything, just get more lost, can’t find a light close enough to see anymore so we either see a hand, know it’s a hand or madness, hatred grab, slowly gradually pull us over the cliff, edge grasping to take us into itself, make us become it, we think it’s that same madness, hate, smack it away, try to run.
Though if you truly wish to save, help people, reach out to them no matter how they look, think, act, talk, dress, conduct themselves, how wise or dumb they can or could be, how different they might be, the world peace breed fear, hatred that’s the madness that becomes our own darkness that pulls us over the edge; so which are you, are we, is the world, am I; you decide, help, or hinder; keep me in the light finally, save us all, myself, or leave me to wonder when I
‘ll be saved, me as a whole, the whole world.
So, next time ask which you are truly through meditation or self discovery; ask, are you the man or the monster.
The Poet Community is completely reader supported, please help me keep it going.
Have you read Guy Farmer's social justice poetry book now available on Amazon?
Read poems by Guy Farmer on this site.