Blame

(This is a based upon a fragment of something I wrote many years ago. The majority was written today. I hope it provokes some thought. Thanks for reading.)

Blame. It's a shame that the man is the same as he was when the tragedy struck. But he smiles and he says, "What the fuck? 'Cause we're shit out of luck and this world sure does suck."

So there's more dreaded days in the haze as we laze in the praise of society's phase of descent. Is it permanent? Or a a dent in the armor, a stent in the heart of our living and breathing and forever seething, emotional teething, a bite on the dimple, a squeeze of the pimple of life.

Strife, chaos, at a loss for something deeper. Nothing's cheaper than being a keeper of the same old search for gold, bought and sold and truth be told it's all but dust, a simple lust forsaking trust in nature's good. Yet it's understood, perhaps we should ignite profounder light, that brings us sight and brightens up our souls.

Our goals should stoke the coals of fire, intense desire, inspire us to make this place a better space to trace our path, our destiny and set us free from wrath and see it's easier to be content, without lament, omnipotent not impotent and shine away the blame that came and set aflame our world when the tragedy struck.

© 2010 Paul Caracciolo. Reproduction in whole or in part is strictly prohibited.