Pages From John

Tag: poem

  • Puzzled

    Crissing and crossing the grand ole jigsaw

    An absurdly large puzzle that keeps on building

    Pieces poured on the table early in the morning

    Not knowing they are a part of a larger picture

    They force themselves into spots that just don’t fit

    They wonder why they have their bends and curls

    There is certainly a place for a piece in a puzzle

    But the pieces rebel and try to squeeze in harder

    It really is no good for the puzzle or the piece

    Some fall off the table and some get lost underneath

    Eventually I hope all the pieces find the right place

    I mean, what is a puzzle without all of its pieces

    And what are the pieces without the whole puzzle

    What a weird thing it would be to be a piece in a puzzle

    What a weird thing it would be to be a puzzle with pieces

    A weird thing if there were puzzles within pieces

    When solved the pieces are finding their place in the puzzle

    And even then what if the puzzle is never solved?

    Jumbling up all the pieces for an ever expanding puzzle

    And to that, I am truly and utterly puzzled

  • That’s Christmas, Baby

    The cold reaching frost of December’s gruesome winds

    Packed inside to escape such chilling and aching bites

    In the heart of darkness with hardly a sight of day

    A LIGHT LEAPS!

    That’s Christmas, baby!

    It’s the new beginning!

    A comeback story!

  • Judgement

    Seeing my faults, I look into others and believe there is something to be seen,

    As if by my eyes there is something I can see that is not immediately on the scene.

    Alas, this is my folly once again, as other men know nothing about me or my way,

    So why should I believe that I am any different even if I stand after winter in May?

    Hypocrisy is a terrible crime, but I cannot really know when it has been committed,

    It could be another paradise lost if my self-righteous judgement is not omitted.

    It is up to the divine as a complete whole to place judgements and give final verdict,

    I may be a piece of that divinity, but only through blank slated actions can we serve it.

    The best thing I can do is forgive and forget, and hope my wants lead to just ends,

    Even then! Even then, knowing many of my wrongs, I can with every enemy make amends.

  • What or Why?

    What if what I did didn’t matter at all…

    What if why I did it was all that mattered…

    Now the illusion all makes sense, doesn’t it?

    Is this why everything has no explanation?

    Just an illusion.

    Think of it this way:

    I can protest against the corruption of the government I hate,

    Or I can protest against the corruption for the people that I love.

    I can fight against racism because it is the racists that I hate,

    Or I can fight against racism because it is my fellow humans that I love.

    I can fuck like rabbits because of the hate I have for myself,

    Or I can fuck like rabbits because I simply love sex.

    I can read book after book because of the hate I have for stupidity,

    Or I can read book after book because of the love I have for wisdom.

    I can party all night because I want to escape the life I hate,

    Or I can party all night because I want to celebrate the life I love.

    I can write all of my poetry because it is the Matrix that I hate,

    Or I can write all of my poetry because it is the spirit that I love.

    Sometimes these things can be muddied,

    And I must move forward in that uncertainty.

    I will learn my intentions as I go…

    As I don’t know the reasons for everything I do.