Falling Down

The need to feel powerful is as ancient as the Amazon. 

Those tribes undiscovered by the white man who ate the hearts of their enemies to absorb the vitality of spirit lingering in the organs of warriors,

but seriously, power is as fundamental to our existence as breathing.

Positions are devoid of meaning. Mountains are closer to the sky than high-rise buildings.

So, why do we crave what man has made?

Our desires weaken us

Travelling tires us

and our creativity falls through our fingers like sand.

The ultimate power is the one we express.

Perhaps, this is why I write Poetry,

but lately, I am feeling as if I lost something.

YouTubers go through this, as they lose followers

as they lose their minds

as they go into decline

but there is beauty in falling down, even though it’s ugly

a broken nose

a black eye

a chipped tooth

a bruised brain

and blood

flowing

onto the sidewalk.

I get up

put one foot in front of the other

despite disorientation

because

I believe we never arrive.

How should we respond to a brain eating amoeba

or cancer 

eating our organs

or wolves 

that surround us in an empty field 

where snowcapped mountains watch our demise through cold unfeeling mirrors of ice?

Is the computer compromised when a virus breaks down its CPU?

Is the old man a baby, when he pees his diaper and goes poo too.

What about the beautiful starlet who explodes into wrinkles and gray? A black hole, lost and found by 5 cats. An animal rights activist, until she expires on a Saturday, saving money on cat food, and feeding her family a vintage of fame, 50 years old in the making.

Life is Strange. It tastes good. It tastes bad. A starving man can find meaning in a burrito.

I wish that I could tell you this poem ends well

It’s deep

It’s dark

It’s dry at the bottom

but I threw my life into it

and

I 

wished

all

the

way 

down,

and you know what I found?

The water was inside me.