The Paradox of Being

A Forest of Existence

If I'm in a forest
And there's no one else but me
Would I cease to be?

When I wrote these simple words
As I sat here on my own
Were you thoughts perhaps of me?

As you read these words I've written
As my thoughts enter your mind
Are you thinking of me now?

As your chest rises and falls
As your eyelids blink once more
And feel the gravity that holds you

How about now?

A ginger cat purrs happily
Trees sway in the summer breeze
A drop of rain falls into the rolling sea

Were you thinking of me?
I didn't think so.

An Ocean of Distraction

We Labour Under Life’s Labels

A sausage roll and a sausage are at the top of a hill.

The sausage rolls and the sausage roll doesn’t.

Life is cruel.

The Death of Grammar

I love apostrophe’s, me – their rely gr8.
They should of made them, buy the crate.
With heavy irony, I made this poem.
A generation of illiterate’s, we seem 2 of grown.

I do not think it’s the school system,
There’s no way that they could have completely missed them.
Instead – it’s acceptance, of one’s peers subculture,
And the death of grammar and spelling is circled overhead,
By a great big vulture!

I’m sorry to be so profound,
but I know there are more brain cells to go around,
than is implied by parts of my Facebook feed,
Remember how to write, my friends,
And your words we will look forward to read!

Copyright © Dave Price – April 18 2013