To be rude to the man who cut in line

Who stands two feet in front of me

With an arrogant smile

Quite satisfied that he will get there

One minute before me

To be angry at the ignorance

Of the masses who don't know better

Who are willing to nominate a tyrant

Because they are being targeted

By those promising everything

But secretly know nothing

To be devastated by the violence

That is on our tv's

And is created by our dollars

At the movies and the taxes

That we pay

I choose not to be

Not to be the one 

Perpetrating such ugliness

To fan the flames of retribution

And pour gasoline on those 

So rotten from hate

For being rotten on the inside 

Is its own punishment

Even if they won't 

Consciously admit it 

Wrath decays your heart

And late at night

They have to listen

To the voice that whispers

That their selfish motives

Will be the downfall of mankind

So, I choose not to be 

Not to be anything like them

Otherwise I can't

Look my child in the eyes and know

The world I am creating for him

To be alive is to savor the sun,

golden droplets kissing your tongue,

enveloped in warmth embracing skin,

breeze whispering as it puffs clouds, forming

a pillow to cushion and release your angst.

The sea rolls in with the tide bathing your soul

in crystal spray splashing and touching as it

washes away the trouble and pain you’ve seen.

The birds soaring above feeling feathered joy

floating free pleasure to you as you laugh.

To not be is the coward’s way out when you

take your own life or waste it by failing to see

the beauty and hope harmonizing in symphonies.

Grasp your life and embrace to your chest tightly

and determine to be all you can be as

the sea breaths an offer of cerulean fortuity.

Fuck Poetry.

Me n' Shakespeare used to sit at the pub swapping sonnets over a pint.

Give me a funny-lookin' hat

with a feather in it,

then I can say: thou, whence, becomest, thereforehenceforth, and

honorificabilitudinitatibus.

I'll make you beautiful, Poetry.

I don't read poetry

in bars.

I want poetry

to be,

not to

not to be:

Epic and classic.

Battle and gore.

Sword and shield.

Heart and valor.

Love and loss.

Sometimes I just don't understand you, Poetry.

Dude,

ya know,

like,

seriously.

Is that poetry?

That is the question.

Yes.

God damn it, Poetry;

I misunderstood ya.

A poem needs not bide by recipes.

So take a sonnet and stir it up, add ice.

You drink it down and puke up poetry.

It can be anything, because poetry is about expressing yourself anyway you want to.

Poetry is not limited and never should be.

There is poetry in 

pumping

gasoline,

riding

a bike,

making love.

Poetry is war.

Poetry is conversation.

Poetry is obsessively organizing your sock drawer in color order.

Poetry is at the bottom of your glass,

bursting with every foamy bubble.

I look around

at what used to be nothing,

but now 

I see

something.

I see Shakespeare in a barstool and a glass of beer.

I see Poetry.

What are we but a crease in the wrinkle of time?

A voice in a chorus of angels?

A single drop in an infinite pool?

To be is to be nothing.

To be is to be empty.

To be is to be small, insignificant, finite.

If to be is barely being, then why be at all?

To not be is to be nothing.

To not be is to be empty.

To not be is to be small, insignificant, nonexistent.

It's all the same.

But to be...

To be is to want purpose.

To be is to transform your single drop into an oasis.

To be is to make our meaningless existence a little more meaningful.

To be or not to be?

Do I live on in turmoil,

Every day battering and bruising me?

Feeling my blood boil,

Desperate and lonely,

I want to fly away above,

But I know that would only

Hurt the ones I love.

I stand here in thought

Pondering my life

Thinking I ought

To stay, despite my strife.

So I'll tough it out,

I'll find a way through,

Until I am without

Pain and I live anew.

I want to be the best of me

    Not to give up so easily

To my own self be true

    That's the first clue

I try to be brave

    Not to be a slave

I try to be bold 

    Try not to get old

I try to be smart

    Not fall apart

I try to be sweet

    Not swept off my feet

I try to be pretty

    Try not to be shitty

I try to be happy

    Just not too sappy

I try to have grace

    Try not to lose face

I try to work hard

    Not act like a card

I try to forgive

    Try not to relive

I try to embellish

    Try not to be selfish

I try to abide

    Try not to be snide

I try to give love

    Not push or shove

I try to believe

    That I can achieve

I try to remember

    That day in November

I try to make time

    To write one more rhyme.

To be or not to be? It defines you and me. We come together, in sweet harmony.

Your heart is elsewhere it's easy to see. Your kisses tender and sweet, they weaken my knees. Your touch soft and gentle, clawing at my soul. It rips at my heart making it known, your love is for someone who is not me. We are three, we can never be. I long for thee.....

To be or not to be.

That is the question.

But what is

to be or not to be?

That is also a question.

You are the one

who holds the answer.

A world like ours

Is truly amazing

Because the individual is empowered

With the power of choice.

You get to decide

What will be

Or what will not be.

You can decide

Which road to take.

You have so much power

The impossible

Can become possible

Under your hands.

Where there's a will

There's a way.

Even in the most hopeless of times

You, the individual

Can find a way to thrive.

You decide

what will be.

So when faced with the question

"To be or not to be"

The answer lies with you.

The choice is yours.

Beautiful and delicate snowflake

Though deadly as an avalanche

Grains of sand in your shoe so irritating

So magical when it´s shaped into a castle

Ugly little grey duckling flapping in the water

Given time it´s a swan that glides

Just a seed spiralling falling to the ground

When grown it develops into a majestic tree

Withered grapes in a barrel not fit to eat

Matured they become a wine fit for a king

Each of these could be one thing

Or could become the another

© M.Withers/M.Strudwick . All rights reserved.

Both the name The EriduSerpent/EriduSerpent

and any written material is owned solely by the above named.

Permission granted for all written material to be shared but not for profit.

Printing or publishing is prohibited without seeking permission first from said owner.