Finding Still
Chasing death and life
Finding still,
in the constant racket
of hustlers and market shills,
manufactured pills
that change with every day,
keep satisfaction absent
and contentment at bay.
Buy this, buy that,
it is not quite out of style,
but we mustn’t show up
in last year’s wardrobe,
then everyone would know
we had lost our game,
and life would never be the same.
Get your groove on,
or at least what’s left of it,
can’t bear to stop and sit,
we might calcify in place,
any time or in any place,
what to do with this falling face?
The latest coffee mix
Has us doing new tricks,
who knows if this age can be beaten
with exercise and infrared heat,
somehow we might still survive
past the day we are to die.
Money comes, and then it goes,
leaves its worries on our face,
The fear we must accumulate
as much as we possibly can,
watching out for the other man,
along this Ferris wheel sham.
In the end, there they stand,
with thoughts that we might fail,
end up homeless or in the city jail,
or somewhere else we shouldn’t go,
fall back, and leave us where we know,
they wait til we learn to be still.
Author’s note: There is an anomaly in this piece that you must look closely to see. If you do, send a comment or a note. I’m curious who digs in.
Thank you for taking the time to read! Copyright © 2025, Robert G. Metivier. All Rights Reserved.
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