The Age of Terror

The Age of Terror 

Our lives are now longer and full of more things
yet all of us bathe in a thick pool of fear.
Stagnating, I notice a current, a slow stream,
that leads from this pool not revered.

Entering slowly, I notice it’s cool,
while others believe I’m a nut,
that blindly chasing a stream like a fool,
will lead to nowhere but a rut.

There’s needs that this pool provides for, they say,
and leaving will lead to no good,
The boxes we stare at will show us the way
to take care of ought to, better, and should.

But I taste the salt in the pool from our tears,
and notice the stream pure, where it flows,
discover that maybe escaping our fears,
goes straight through the place no one knows.

For life can’t be better if we’re always waiting,
staring at boxes, waiting and hiding,
never exploring the terrorists’ hating,
pretending we’re safe, and never confiding

with those that we love the fear that we feel
the fear we'll be banned from the pool,
when they’re hating also and not being real,
and thus is our life, so lonely and cruel.

This pool so stagnate, with hate and delusion,
makes me want to leave the safe seclusion.
So out of this pool, where the stream now leads,
I begin to swim, around rocks and slimy weeds.



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This poem is from "Bottle in the River" 
                     about a Poet's journey down a river, chasing a bottle
                     tossed by the fingertips of "that I am."
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Written within the parameters of the theory of "Multivalence"