🌹✍🏾Poetry’s: William S. Peters Sr.✍🏾🌹


His ‘self-imposed’ draconian ways
Was the weight he could not escape,
Yet he bore it anyway.

It pressed down upon his psyche,
His spirit,
His shoulders
To the extent
That his abilities to challenge life
Were immobilized

He needed no restraints
From the world around him, about him,
For all that he needed
He created
Within himself

We live small
Because we are . . .
We live big,
When we dream!

Where has ‘Hope’ fled,
Oh where doth she hide . .
Inside you say? . . .
Does she hear me
When I pray? . . .
Sssshhhh . . .
Maybe she is asleep,
Please play quietly . . .
Otherwise . . .
There will be consequences
To face

Just suppose, just suppose
We were able to
Truly awaken
And discard this forsaken
Clothing of soul
We now so proudly wear . . .
Just suppose
We were able to loose
The restraints
That bind us
To our meagerly ways
Where our ‘smallness’
Is deliberated
And never quite sated

Just suppose
Our eyes were opened
To see our selves
As not only
As were truly are,
But what we were
Truly intended to be?
Could we mend the fences
that corral
our exponential experientialness?
. . . perhaps, just perhaps,
We should tear them down instead!

I once went to a circus
Where the clowns and acrobats
Along with the wild animals,
And I thought of our civility,
Which we falsely claim to be
Humane . . .
Silly isn’t it
The type of Shit
We think about,
Be about
Through all of our doubts
And our fears
We have created and accumulated
Over the years,
Since the beginning
Of man

Ask me if I understand
The purpose
Of the Ring-Master . . .
Well of course I do,
For he/she is the one
That tells us
We are having fun
At the circus
Where not only
The paid performers perform,
But we do as well

Oh do tell,
Did I stumble upon something
About the necessity
Of clowns hanging around . . .
But who are they,
Do they have restraints as well
Behind the masks
While they perform the tasks
Of being entertaining?

The inanity of the lack
Of our sanity is astounding
And we continue to spew
Into the fabric of manifestation
A profanity of self
That can and will not
Be so easily dismissed
If we do not learn
To blink our eyes,
Or click the heels
Of our Ruby-Red slippers
Together . . .
You are the Wizard
Of your own Oz
And thus you will know this
When you remove the restraints.
For now, let us just call this satire
For I tire of the weight of thinking

Please forward all complaints to
Window #1

© 19 november 2021 : william s. peters, sr.


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