Why does the world
Have all the paint
And I have just
One corner in which
To move into why
Does the world insist
On poking this bear
Why can’t the world
Let sleeping dogs lie
No this crazy world
Turns its nose up
At kindness and compassion
Preferring junk yard dogs
Snarling barking and biting
A world of individuals
All wanting to be
Best at being selfish
Our world is doomed
Sometimes enough is enough
While not absolutely perfect
Nearly is better than
Nothing so I thought
Yet some things close
Are better than sublime
Proximity does offer experience
Always better than dreams
Tactile tangibility weighs heavier
Than wispy fleeting fantasy
But with the reality
Of something been had
Comes with it responsibility
For having achieved such
Ideals are often free
Whereas people are not
As I lay here
Moving my hand slowly
Following the suns path
As it creeps quietly
From foot to calf
And up your thigh
To the ribbed cliffs
And your alpine chest
Past your mouths pool
Finally on your eyes
Giving my morning lips
Their own landing pad
Good sunrise my sweet
The problem for most
Things isn’t figuring them
Out because most things
Are figured out the
Problem with most things
Is the problems faced
After the problems are
Figured out answers are
Never just the answers
Answers in reality are
Simply the next questions
Just one more time
One more look back
One more go at
Things one more time
To be together like
One more swing on
The tire one more
Trip down the slide
Like one more sunset
From the balcony together
One more taste of
Something gleefully ticklingly delicious
Things that you enjoy
Are never really over
There’s always one more
In reality or memory
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 