Panting and Ranting

a poem by Craig McGeady

Basking in the warmth of sentimentality, where the eyes

stretched eons beyond the belly and all that was seen

was designed to ignite the sweetest regions of the soul.

We have it, it’s there, only misused and abused, sullen

and confused by the words we festoon upon its girth,

dressing it in the limits of twine, fashioned with notions

of what’s yours and not mine, and what soon will be.

Determined to curb the splendor of our minds, the reach

of our thoughts, the visions we could craft from a willingness

to grind, so long as the end game was seen as worth it.

The end game is lost in a perpetual fog of attainable goals

for a few, a hardy, lucky few and you could be too as long

as you throw your weight into the game, playing by rules

you’ll never get to know and change with a winner’s whim.

We narrow our bands of acceptance, as we have narrowed our

dreams until the fight within us peters out, a desire

to shout at inaction is lost, tossed on all consuming fires.

Those fires should be illuminating, fueling a hunger for more,

not a wastrel’s hunger, where only the corrupt have enough,

but for the intangible, those moments that dance on our fingers,

leaving us panting and ranting for the sweetness of our souls.

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