The world is a mysterious place
bizarre as the unpainted patch of ceiling
where men daily escape their crimes
and suffer paradises they don't deserve
we turn our heads and swear
oaths outlive us, lying dormant
as untruths spread, transient vectors
wine and complaints are plentiful
to those who can afford such luxuries
respect is best paid in unsung lyrics
while criticism relies on knowledge and another's lack
pureness is wholly unappreciated until it leaves us
for someone much more deserving
we waste only what's scarce and necessary for life
love, on the other hand, is reserved
explicitly for every foolish moment, ad infinitum
And you wonder why people go insane.

TMK 6.9.2006