Hey, you: (Yeah, you….
Wait, are you you, or me?)
I write to you from between the lion’s paws.
He toys with us like a ball of string…
Can you believe it? A plaything
Is what we’ve become.
The more he bats us around, the more
Unraveled we become; I can’t take it
Much longer, can you?
But what would become of us, at the end,
When that ball is no longer a ball?
We’d have to own up
Admit our weakness, our waste of a life
Have we done it before? I think, perhaps…
That burning at my temple, is that
From the past? (Did we cave, waste
A body, once upon a past lifetime?)
Truth be told, it matters not now, except
That we decide better this time;
(Waste is never productive).
So, let’s root…take hold…take life from the Earth
And perhaps make it happily worthwhile
After we naturally leave Her.