living life now,
or dying a little each day … …

lost amidst the flotsam and jetsam,
nonchalantly cast aside,

what may I possibly say:

you’ll soon tire,
as you often do,
of your spanking new toy,
I say,
that there’s always a prettier boy,

around every bend,
in every street,
in every city,

there are always lovelier things,

us puppets,
to prance,

do the necessary dance,
and song,

tugged by emotion,
at will,
oblivious of the machinations,

of the manipulator of strings,

so love the one,
who is there,
in every sense,

and it is alright to be human,

so cry,
as do I,

for pedestals should be made,
to be finite,

prone to being broken,

let’s be kind, if nothing else,
to each other, the planet over,

may our shared humanity,
be from slumber woken,

that’s all,
in a hail of pompous words flung around,

and ever so casually spoken … …