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Jason A. Wise

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Life (the meaning of)
by Jason A. Wise

Monday, March 03, 2003

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Recent poems by Jason A. Wise
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           >> View all 299

What causes you to feel like this,
to sympathize
with the admirable
or the understandable.
You identify
and characterize,
affirming the senses
with anguish
and diction.
And what does it hint,
as it influences you,
confuses quality with fate
until you cant breath
without permit,
encouraging your response.
My soul has become a great work
of fiction,
a drama,
rich in shit
and meaninglessness.
I think you changed me.
Speaking intelligence
with stupidity,
losing the difference
in idealistic
and pragmatic.
Doesnt it amuse you,
this situation,
and how youll use it
as an excuse
for what you never
should have done.
Maybe its the irony
of addiction,
needing philosiphy
to explain away marriage
and religion.
Morality is dead,
to an extent
where its memory
is nothing
but a puppet.
Your systems in decline.
Are you anything unusual
or unworthy,
humanity becoming something foreign
that only assumes you
when no one else is around
to see it.
Are you extra-special,
or any better
than the rest
of them.
What did all of this suggest,
and make apparent,
about my assumptions
of you?
Can you love,
any easier now.
Can you feel,
any better now.
Can you be,
any happier now.
Or was this poem
just a waste
of time and space.

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Reviewed by Marilyn Seray 3/7/2003
Intense read. Written words are never wasted!
Reviewed by Josephine Bohen 3/4/2003
i see no waste here
Reviewed by Retta (Reindeer) Mckenzie 3/4/2003
Oh wow, Not a waste at all...Very beautiful, and so well done,


Reviewed by Bonnie Torrente 3/3/2003
Well done!
Reviewed by Elizabeth Taylor (Reader) 3/3/2003
Well done.
Poem not a waste of space.
Poem good.
Reviewed by Madame X (Reader) 3/3/2003
Profound. Just absolutely profound.
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