I’ve all but forgotten about the physical.
It is after all such a weak gesture,
With the mental.
Such a sorry squall…
Drama only exist in the physical,
And so the uselessness of physicality,
Squandered being, no hope of the goal,
No sense of progress,
Only endless circles.
I will not end in death.
I’ll only leave this being, this vessel,
This derogatory piece of flesh and bone.
Who besides me has put their self last,
And then looked around?
A thoughtful few for sure.
I know the answer, I recognize the symptoms,
And I’ve thought about the cure,
Execute your inhibitions,
Exceed what you are told you are.
Happiness in slavery?
Outside your fears is bravery.
Why not take that step? Why not feel my prose?
Perhaps you could be one who goes outside the norm,
Ride beside the torn,
Remnants of physicality,