Trending Vultures

May draw a crowd, but won't be real;
The truth ain't got no sex appeal.
Whatever's trending here today,
Runs afoul of the way.

Where vultures gather, there's a corpse.

I speak in metaphor of course.

The buzzards revel, this is true,
But carcasses aren't made for you.

Salivating over flesh
I guess we're not evolved just yet.

'Cause pictures show she's clearly boss,
Though all of them are photoshopped.

Whatever human hearts adore,

Brings craving, greed, and wanting more.

Like a snake's ambitious zeal;

Tried make a pachyderm its meal.

The real is hackneyed, stale, a bore.

And mining it is such a chore!

And though it's naked for display

It's in an unappealing way.

The truth is there, but buried deep,

Underneath this garbage heap.

And those who spend their days to mine,

Most say that they are wasting time.

The hip and trendy pass it by,

Deride it as some loathsome lie

To rob us of our daily fun--

That dangerous, half-cocked, loaded gun.

The pious, they deride it too.

And say, "Now that just can't be true.

What you say, I can't relate.

Your words they do not resonate."

But death don't vibrate 'long with life.
Who resonates with sacrifice?
Thus Heaven's kids are too elite;
What child don't prefer their sweets?

Of rich and famous, who's fulfilled?

The trending trough is empty swill,

With sugar added for the taste,

But hunger it can never sate.

And then there's that which we recoil.
Pump fists and cause our blood to boil.
That which makes us so incensed,
For justice or some recompense.

But Jesus said to turn the cheek,
Who really wants to be so meek?
I'd rather show that I am strong,
And point out others when they're wrong.

Hypocrisy is carcass too?
Well, what's a hypocrite to do?
Spend my time to mine the real?
The truth ain't got no sex appeal.

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Inspired by this bible passage in particular verse 28, I know I know, it's Buddha one day, Jesus the next, I can't help it that they're both right :)

The Hateful Eight

The Buddha spoke of hateful eight
Suff'rings bound to us by fate
By virtue sole that we are born:
The awful eight that all men scorn.

Birth and sickness, age and death
Would be enough, but four are left:
Like distance from the ones you love,
And closeness to those cursed above.

Next, not getting what's desired,

Sparks bitter, burning, blinding ire,
Reverts adults to toddler days
With childish tantrums then displayed.

The last one may be too abstract:
Five aggregates which root they lack
Awash and drown the core of One
Prevent returning where we're from.

The Buddha spoke of hateful eight
Suff'rings bound to us by fate
And one who dares to seek release
May find the birthless way relief.

Estranged

When last we met, remember when?
We were as the closest friends.
But now were awkward and estranged,
How I wish for this to change.

The few, the proud, the meek, not loud,
Who dare to run not with the crowd.
The road it narrows as you walk.
Do press on, and do not balk.

A Mother's Home

Though moon may rise, and sun may dawn,
There ain't no sunshine when she's gone.
A light had left the world that day
When my mother went away.

Certain not where now she roams,
But house has ceased to be a home.
Such greed to ask for her to stay,
'Cause all that's birthed must pass away.

This I know, but don't agree,
My mother I'd still like to see.
And have her say, "Son, later call,
I'm watching Duke play basketball!"

And how she'd cackle when they'd win.
I'd love to hear that laugh again!
Or have her look at me and see,
What I'm thinking wordlessly.

And when I'd left, she'd then explain:
"Leave that boy, he's not insane!"
But now she's gone, and there may be
No one left to vouch for me.

If not grandkids, least a wife.
But I'm not sure that is my life.
Sans marriage and sans progeny:
Mom, are you still cross with me?

Elsewhere does your spirit shine?
Do you still claim, "That boy is mine!"
Without your body, can you see
What it is we're ought to be?

Did you escape the flames of hell?
If secret, you don't have to tell.
But I've been wond'ring where you stay
Ever since you went away.

Woke

I heard a fun rumor, I heard you was woke.
And when I did hear it, I thought it a joke.
If ever I did meet a man more asleep,
I'd beg for a shovel to dig him six deep.

Relativity

There are two sides to ev'ry story:
I've only room for one.
But not the left or right beside me,
The monad came from none.

So don't you tell me he said she,
I'd really pay no mind.
I'm neither with and nor against you,
Blessed, but not with time.

My manner coarse, and less than humble
Perhaps, it's true, I'm rude.

Rough edges meet and grind together

And that's what makes them smooth.

You want to tell me right and wrong

And plead and prove your case.

If earth agrees, but Heaven not

Then time, oh what a waste!

You want to tell your side of things,

But me, I just don't care.

Agreement of the world entire

Can't free us from this snare.

The popular appeal, it comforts.

But only for a time.

And boosts the ego high and mighty

And distant from sublime.

So labor why for counterfeits

And not the real of gold?

Convincing of the human minds

Cannot release the soul.

So labor thus and duly dig

and all it comes for naught.

Will agreement of the world entire

Soothe your bones of rot?

There are two sides to ev'ry story:

I'd rather hear the one. 

Don't speak of relativity,
I'd rather cleave to none.