Harmless

It's an utterly amazing
and dreadful clarity
of my own thinking,
to awaken from a dream
that's so fully immune
from life's lukewarm servings,
only to sit up frowning
at the thought of my reality.
To shower and dress
and scrape the tar
off my yellowing teeth
for no reason but routine,
to work towards more work,
to play only when the sun
has set out of view,
to all the while
keep up my morals
in hope of attaining
some afterlife Jesus prize.
I couldn't possibly
be anyone's enemy.
Not when I continue,
with things such as these,
to scar and ruin myself
the most of all.

all works on this page Copyright 2001 by Paul Ryan

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