Still

Oh, the way things do change,
And, yet, they stay the same,
It’s amazing we can give anything,
A unifying name,

Like two things that appear like each other,
Should be treated as one,
As if a thing doesn’t change over time,
No matter how strong its constitution,

But maybe the thing is we change with it,
In direct proportion,
Like slowly sneaking all around a tree,
Ne’er catching your victim,

Then there’s the tree,
Growing too slow to see,
It’s a testament your type of change,
That I have faith in our vitality,

Priceless

Do you recall that ad,
Advertising something,
In which they name a list of random things,
Including quantity,

Like, ‘four years of dental school in L.A.,
‘One secret to confess,
‘A conference of five thousand colleagues,
‘Ten thousand hands clapping for you, priceless’

Now that I think of it, I’m not quite right,
The numbers all are costs,
You pay with cash in exchange for lifestyle,
But then, it’s not a loss,

I remember,
It was a credit card,
Like debt is naught to who you really are,
Should believing that really be that hard?

No Control

If you feel impeded,
You must ask yourself ‘why’,
Are circumstances out of your control,
As you watch then go by?

Has what was you become an observer,
On a lazy river,
Open to the weather and the currents,
A victim who may swelter or shiver,

Waiting to complain to the attendant,
About the lousy ride,
When you could have stepped out of the air tube,
Really, at any time,

You don’t want that!
Responsibility?!
Much better your choices are made for you,
Than take control of your own destiny.

Stand Up

You’ll not be popular,
Or rather, yes you will,
Telling people how your life really is,
Depending on your trill,

Does it denote a hint of jealousy,
Or vulnerability,
Does truth underlie the tales that you tell,
Or are they shrouded in uncertainty?

Do you put them together  as you should,
Without thought, but feeling,
No consideration for who you hurt,
Or who is listening?

For that’s the key,
To uncovering truth,
To understand how we fit in this world,
To pass on our wisdom onto our youth.

Trauma

There is no beginning,
When it comes to trauma,
It runs like veins through the generations,
To daughter from mamma,

To nation from the nation before that,
Before the apple's bit,
It unlocks our minds to what's really there,
After consciousness has got hold of it,

Each time it visits our lived existence,
It is like a fresh bruise,
The blood rises up, just under our flesh,
Reminding us there's someone to accuse,

Of all our hurts,
From time immemoryal,
So we lash out because of what's inside,
Ensuring that the mark will never heal.