Running deeper than…

Mere appearances, reflections.

Your demeanor, presence, your aura is an eyesore.

They have,



and are sliding further…

I fear.

That you need more than hands…

To procure, secure and suture the wounds.

You cry.

But your muffled wails for attention,


The conflagration that is your lot.

Your hauteur breeds discontent, securing immurement.

Eliciting stares of…


Cutting deeply…

Knowing this construct…

The opposite of honor.

Simplified, some liken it.

To the sins of the father.

While most.

See it as crass.

I elect not to see an ass.

I beseech you.

Pull up your pants…

So that your expectations… Can follow.


Writer, poet, possessor of 2 cents, blogger, recovering corporate animal and eternal student of life, who harbors a firm belief in his Grandmother's mantra that: "People need to get off of their rump and do something". All while keeping in mind that a cheering section will only get in the way.

6 Comment on “Falling down…

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