You see it all the time
people doing stupid things
like making batches of slime
there’s no end in sight
of people
who aren’t too bright
we live with them every day
shaking our heads in wonder
at their disarray
they’re at home and on the street
doing dumb things
and being indiscreet
it’s not about being bad
we all do dumb things
like following a stupid fad
it’s about the realization
that stupid things happen
in any kind of situation
in the pantheon of gods there’s two you should know
Echo and Ego
they walk around our world every day
one praising herself and the other echoing away
one generally follows the other’s lead
praising the other’s every deed
they like sports stars and movie stars
and famous writer’s early memoirs
you might be surprised to know
that everyone has an ego
it’s the echo
that determines if fame is to be had
whether it’s good…or whether it’s bad
decades of newspapers and magazines cluttered every room, silent witnesses to bygone eras, nestled alongside a lifetime of eclectic collections in the gathering gloom
when the coroner came to collect the old man, his worn-out body in his favorite chair in front of a fan, he was surrounded with trinkets and displays from his good old days
every room was piled high with one man’s treasure yet another man’s junk, standing lamps, piles of clothes from ages past that stunk worse than a skunk
boxes and crates with no labels butted against couches and tables, towers of books with subjects ranging from science to early fables, rolls of cables, and an assortment of turntables
souvenirs from other countries, plastic children’s toys that still made noise, clocks off all kinds, dried food, ancient weather vines, and assorted other sundries
missing were photos of family, a lonely man severed from humanity, living in an alternate reality, his life a mere triviality, his collections becoming his center of gravity
they said the old man had a mental disorder, a condition not unknown to many people trying to install order into their chaotic life, and turning into a hoarder
when I was growing up my grandfather use to say
that boy is going to find out everything the hard way
if he comes out of his childhood alive
there’s a damn good chance he’ll survive
I was an eager student of the School of Hard Knocks
my troubles were never pebbles they were always rocks
taking the least traveled pathway had a price
I come close to losing my life twice
there was never really a choice for me
I’ve always been on the verge of tragedy
but in these later days of my life
I look back and appreciate the strife
and accept my past and my destiny
whatever that happens to be
we cannot hide from our deeds
whether they’re good or bad
our actions have consequences
that either leave us happy or sad
the life moves we make
affect our journey
and the roads we take
a good path
or a mistake
call it karma
or call it fate
everything you do
comes back to you
love
or hate
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