existential – Page 3 – Kevin Trent Boswell

bonkers

the world has gone and goes
farther into madness each day

hands gripping the panicked ledge
clock prying weak fingers away

losing all safety and sanity,
stripped of it daily and nightly

if you can find yourself an anchor,
hold on to it fiercely and tightly

standard operating procedure

standard operating procedure
or the abbreviation S.O.P. for short

throw it out the fucking window,
as far as any attempt to navigate
the world, as it is, right now, today

nothing works the way it used to
and none of the old rules apply

reliability is no longer a feature
most people treat each other as sport

the only thing you can really know
is that for us, it’s probably too late
but there’s no one who can definitely say

it’s no longer just about what you do
it’s not only a matter of how hard you try

it’s easy to find a lovely creature
the attractive-on-the-outside sort

but when the inside parts begin to show
you might turn off or begin to hate
and lose your previous desire to play

if their nature is less-than-true
if they’re the type that’s prone to lie

you don’t need a guru or preacher
nor a bunker, a base, or a blanket fort

only a love to make your heart glow,
to change your mind about your fate
and honest, kind words to say

you need “do unto others, as to you”
and together, you can happily die

I Can Bleed

I suppose I could bleed for you
Or perhaps for myself or a friend
I could bleed for money and status
Or as part of a goal, a means to an end

And unfortunately, I have to say,
Because I’d rather not suffer in blindness,
That I will not be bleeding for you,
Because you never return the kindness

Half

No point in trying, we see the impossible
Eighty percent are chopped in two
Everything we ever did was all wrong
Nothing that we were taught was true

It’s no use to refine or reach out
Nothing is left in the bin to sort
We can’t be two halves of a whole
The ball is always dragged into court

Years of digging, chasing the veins
To find the heart, a center, a core
But emptiness only weaves and bobs
Ducks out and fucks off to explore

Half of us cut in half by the clock
Cold butcher knife calendar cleave
Constantly screaming we’re wrong
We load, we chamber, and leave

Don’t Read This Poem

You don’t want to read this poem
Because it doesn’t conform to your view
Hell, it barely matches my own
So, it might not appeal to you

To enjoy this, you’d have to be able
To challenge your beliefs and behaviors
It doesn’t confirm preconceptions
And it’s utterly devoid of saviors

In this poem, I’m not the champion
It holds up no heroes to idolize
Neither does it have evil villains
There’s no money, sex, gossip, or lies

It asks only that we be better people
That’s all that it does… that’s it
And this is why it stings my pride
And why most will say that it’s shit

You have been warned, if you read this
You may regret some choices you’ve made
You might question some of your actions
Or feel bad about the part that you played

So, don’t even read the first line
That’s how you find yourself in a pickle
Next thing you know, you’re wondering
If you’ve been cruel, selfish, or fickle

Before we start asking tough questions
Ones that show just how we’ve been slack
Before we lose our ability to play Victim
Let’s not read this… and never look back

quiet in the jungle

where have all the lions gone?
they used to roam these parts freely
out on the plains,
sometimes in the streets

but look all around,
and you won’t find any
in the trees
or under the sheets

the lions are hiding,
but they are not afraid,
even though the gazelle
swears otherwise

zebra asks the lion
if his confidence decayed
but the lion says,
“look deep in my eyes”

look closely, you’ll notice
there’s no appetite
for there’s no game here
worth the effort to devour

so, I no longer hunt
because the taste isn’t right
the meat is all bitter
and sour