Everything We Waste

in solitude we find

that which brings

a lost dialogue

on the contemplation

of what it means

to be without

the need for admiration

or desire, but to only

feed the things that

never ask to be fed

for what we have

to offer is poison

to them, and when

we try, it brings

forth the inevitable


in the name of

living a life

that in its very nature

is not a life at all

but a death wrapped

in all our ambitions


  1. Whoa! What’s crazy is I was literally talking with a friend this afternoon about this very thing! Then I come here and see you’ve written it out in your excellent poetry. I definitely sharing this with them.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. The deep thinkers have so much to offer to the world but the people are simply uninterested. They are living lives that can’t be considered as lives at all. Therefore anyone who wants to break down their shallow delusion is unwelcome, he will be perceived as the threat to their fondest dreams and hopes of the flesh that will be consumed by death.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. It’s interesting to see through your eyes and try to understand what you’re feeling when you write. I’m always looking for myself, apparently (so my writing coach says) in every poem, story — every penned line. We’re all look for pieces of ourselves in each other, I think. I find myself quite often in your words. Thanks for sharing deeply. Every emotion is, in my opinion, sacred and valid. Every person is worthy of reverence — especially you, River. I hope you know that. ♥.

    Liked by 1 person

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