Gifted

 
 
 
Years of my life I believed
why wouldn’t I?
how couldn’t I?
Give more than I receive.
Most importantly, give to humanity.
Never mind humiliating pain; let it rain,
take the drenching. Perfume mendacious stench
prattling pretty happy plans,
idealizing mankind as we could be
brought to peaks of glorious peace and bliss.
 
The word these days is Passion.
A flying heart.
The ache of Art.
Find where my mind takes ease,
soars with eternity, smiles with fluidity.
Learn from those few I can respect;
let go the rest. 
Float, a ghost in repose, leaving regret
for scavengers to eat in my wake.
Every dawn could reveal inspiration,
unrestrained by beliefs in gifting obligations.
Streaming energy gleefully received.
.
.
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