You can’t turn your back on it,
You’ve tended to it, cared for it,
nursed it from vacant bones and
put meat to its flesh, but it doesn’t
know any better, does it?
You won’t be able to make it
understand exactly what time and effort
and love you’ve put into it, or what
hope you have for it, what future
you want for it.
Sure, you can pander to it,
plead with it, prey about it,
but it is not so much deaf as alien,
aware, alive, yet unknowing-
uncaring for our ways.
Unlistening and yet hearing, it
is just another animal, another
guiltless stray that wanders on in step
with us from the moment we take it in
to the feasting scraps of
our final days.
And, worst of all, it will not linger
when our kindly offerings are gone.
No. It will just do as it must,
just do as it does, and simply carry on
searching for that fresh and vibrant scent,
seeking out its next meal where someone
gasps that gullible breath.
Alright, so this one isn’t funny or happy, but that sort of thing happens occasionally. I honestly got the idea from this poem from a friend who, upon mentioning life, said you can’t turn your back on it. I answered with a kind of wry chuckle that, ‘it’s like a bad dog, isn’t it?’ and, well, now you just looked at what came after that though. Once again, not happy but a bit snide and aloof but it’s just one of those honest to goodness how I feel about things poem.
Now, with that downer sort of nonsense out of the way, I hope the rest of your week picks up, your workday flies by and, if life happens to get out of line, you roll up the nearest news paper and smack that bitch square on the nose to let it know just who’s in charge here.
(Thanks to Minita for the awesome picture! )