Meanings and Misnomers

There’s the weak shudder of a half green sprout,
Like the others, it wishes it could too vibrate,
It worships its hinges to the mother plant,
Hoping, and praying, it never has to separate.
When a mockingbird flies past your home,
With a tweep,past the window,on the eleventh floor,
Do you stop fiddling with the processed chicken soup,
And listen,it asks you, 'what do you do?oh,what do you do?'

We fight in vain over the myriad varied names
For the varying addresses of heaven and hell.
While behind the corner of our eyes, life mutates
With mankind, into a misnomer…colossal.

I see myself in a half-buck coin precariously
Wedged in a corner, of a busy soiled gutter.
And in the water streaming the serene face,
In frozen escapade, of a stallion’s fountain sculpture.

Who needs a name! Who needs an address?
… When it’s all the same, a part of this beautiful nest?

I have touched a purple grain
Hidden within
The white sands of the shore
Where earth ends,
Paradise begins,
And I find my evanescence…
Buried beneath and hovering over
Them I shall forever remain,
I shall find my heaven in them,
And the reason for the
Existence of my very name.

We fight in vain over the seven varied names
For the varying addresses of heaven and hell.
While behind the corner of our eyes, life mutates
With mankind, into a misnomer...colossal.