Bullseye

Bullseye

I wonder why it seems so difficult

For people to simply be themselves

Why do I always feel I have to put on a mask

Simply to walk the daily throes of life itself?

Maybe this is why there is bipolar so rampantly

Devouring the minds and hearts of the children of men

For none of them remember who they really are

So they swing violently from one fantasy to another

Until there is no more anchor holding in reality

There is no more memory of what gives life each day

So with a merry, merry on our way

We walk along paths of forgetfulness and anger

Only happy when we alone have been seen

Roaring angry when we sense that life can mean

Something more than what we have made of it

We turn away, we cough and spit

Anything and everything that leads us to the answers

We will live our lives through songs and dancers

Not knowing another’s struggles nor their stories

A growing storm of cold and speechless flurries

Seems to be our atmosphere

This global warming has come none too near

To the thrones of our loves, our hearts

With the precision of a brass-tipped dart

We simply sling our hopes toward a center

That none of us admits exists

We seem to miss it every time

 

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