I see them laughing at the Earth, crying out in pain,
a gruesome looking horde, who think they control the rain,
the mirror shows sad story; says, I play a part in this,
in my quest to do some good, all I do is miss,
as lacking is my makeup, the mortality punchline,
with such duplicitous verdicts, I am not so sublime,
but, when I pay attention, I can see them make the hurt,
giving me the motive, to be a lord of some outbursts,
focused insufficiencies, have become the law,
to make a lucid nightmare, of which, I do abhor,
with white knuckles, red face, and my screaming song,
my perplex-ed tongue so busy, will rectify the wrong,
“Scuse me, you over there, can you please be cool!?”
I hear from a dullard, who enjoys being cruel,
“How can I be calm, if talking monkeys like to murder?
If you can’t answer that, then you shall live my burden!”
Hence, if Hell is what we make, perhaps I should relax,
as such “a change can’t happen”, is what’s taught in class,
so; to become a little happier, I could be less aware,
become the thing I hate: a person with no care,
thus, by definition, I discover unpleasantry,
I and you will find this, in our life’s dictionary:
become the blissful ignorant, to regulate the harm,
is the gloomy sordid meaning, of the art of being calm.