Breathe

"Stop what you're doing!
Your doing hurts me!"
And if I stop,
they call that mercy.
Such a good son,
the nicest guy.
But something feels
so off inside.

In my heart,
I find no malice.
Yet my actions,
described as callous.
I'm thoughtless, yes.
This much is true.
But I never wished harm
to come to you.

Will it remove the pain
if I change my walk?
And why should I inquire
with so much talk?
If it hurts to watch me
walk this way.
I should change immediately,
without delay!

Applause.
Hey, I'm the nicest guy!
But something feels
so off inside.
It's not their face
in the mirror I see.
So their clapping can't truly
comfort me.

Reflection.
And who's that standing there?
What manner of posture
does he wear?
One that's upright,
standing firm?
Or one consistent
as a worm?

The world's applauding,
but off inside.
How can I stand
to meet my eyes?
If I can't meet
the face I see,
then how can their clapping
comfort me?

Man in the mirror.
Hey, don't forget.
You're supposed to be
a vertebrate.
Know it's not easy.
Expect to fall.
But get up quickly,
and stand so tall.

Stop what you're doing.
Your doing irks me.
And if you stop,
can we call that mercy?
Kindness maybe,
a brief reprieve.
I get back up,
and learn to breathe.

Lotus pond

Burn the incense.
Excuse the mess.
It's filthy here,
I must confess.

What's foul to you
is sweet, we think.
'Cause pigs don't know
that pigs, they stink.

You made us family
instead of guests.
But our foul odor
must make you retch.
Oh what mercy
to descend and bless
we pigs who wallow
without rest!

Proud little monarch
of a garbage hill.
We tumble in feces
and dine on swill.
But at least we rule
and that's our pride.
True fortune
we don't yet realize.

Mother's crying.
Her heart does wrench.
Teacher's choking
on our stench.
How many more messages
must be sent
for us to turn around,
repent?

A diamond thrown
into the muck.
Sent to hopefully
improve our luck.
We burned the saints
and strung them up.
We hate them 'cause
we're so corrupt.

Here's some more rubbish
for the garbage hill.
We tumble in feces
and dine on swill.

Our perfume smells
so sweet, we think.
'Cause pigs don't know
that pigs, they stink.

It's filthy here.
I'm sure you know.
We relax and down
the stream we go.
Against it
we are loathe to row.
From such muck
how does the lotus grow?

Please teach us,
we're not quite sure.
How can the filthy
become pure?

We hate the truth.
We're so corrupt!
We've fallen.
How can we get up?

Mother's crying;
we do not care.
We take too much
and will not share.
We say that life
just isn't fair.
So we strip the land
and lay it bare.

We can't distinguish
want from need.
We reap and reap
but seldom seed.

We're sinking deeper.
We have no root.
We've all but lost
the taste for truth.

Burn more incense,
let Teacher breathe.
From our stink
a brief reprieve.
We reap and reap
let's learn to seed.
Discard our pride,
and let us plead:

What seems so lovely
just isn't so.
Let's take our paddle
against the flow.
Please teach us what
we do not know:
Out of muck
how does the lotus grow?