There is nothing here, isn’t it|
aren’t we all in utero, alive yet naive|
and only when the scissors of Death|
cut our umbilical cord away from Mother Earth|
do we get to see the answers of the world and in ourselves|

truth in part and parcel|
(done with the mundane repeats of the third planet
ready to face what could be heaven or purgatory or hell

But we know nothing of that sort|
little fetuses kicking and eating and parasitic to this world|
so we put our faith in people we see for who they are|
believe in god and love and bullcrap|
smell roses and write poetry and go mad|
until curiosity kills the cat


(c) 2012
Vivien Marie Lopez

Protected by Copyscape Online Copyright Protection


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