From the irksome carried even unto bliss

It is a common ailment
To speak first
And then think upon it
A rue of constant unchecked persons
Those who like screaming children yell with unfettered voice of all their many woes

First you complain
Later you learn not too
As none listen in the cacophony

What strange rule marks the world of interaction with such damaged souls?
were even sanity is absent
Song and small kindness carries meaning and forms character in the gloom like Plato's cave
For endearment must tempur fortitude else hearts harden and ultimately decay

The non conceptual is under valued
As must everything have a name in order to carry value?
To clarify I like ambiguity as ambiguity causes thought and is therefore the mother of us all

What of those who can nt for want or pleasure find their place
prefering freedom and the nourishing root of sweet mother earth to an unproved premise
as life is preferable to the soulless and dull routine of formality
At least causing one to laugh at life's indifference

Struggle on in hope else the world becomes a burden
Who's seeming answer is in the noose or the bottle
Both vain suicides likened to torn up books without an ending

I am not mad or awaiting death
And so my fate must be just by definition
But do I control my fate or does it consume me
Between what's prescribed , subscribed and transcribed where is the humanity?

In the small
The unobserved
The non bureaucratic
Their lies the human spirit