Acidic Finger-Lickin’ Malaise
From where does such icing come?
Paths of growth,
molecule by molecule,
osmosis bringing some,
birth bringing many.
All perform their purpose,
through the leaf,
the berry,
the evolved creature,
man.
Yet unknown to most,
forces concealed
by nature,
by technology,
by deceit,
tempt the dangerous walk
upon ice too thin to trust.
Nature warns us
of technology but implores us,
all while gluttony takes aim,
ignoring any and all boundary.
Like a flame unquenched,
envy and desire find oxygen
amidst our unbridled drive.
Once love's caress,
now but duplicitous habit,
learned fear feasting upon the screams
contained within.
If I can't have it,
you can't either.
Grown-up children trapped
by fantasy-imbued expectations,
find clothes,
nips,
tucks,
lifts,
implants,
Botoxification,
and lest we forget,
Platinum cards,
All frostings.
Yet distinct from unlimited plastic
or yellow reds and blues in a bottle,
the attendant poisonous infliction on one's mind
remains as an open wound
where malice hides,
waits,
gently revs its over-sweet engine,
then creeps until
while sentience sleeps
and vulnerability lies naked,
hidden opportunity leaps.
Sugary coverings all
to satiate visceral appetites,
regardless of cost.
And if reality’s lure takes its time,
there's always the awaiting tabloids
for lathering acidulous frosting to feed upon.
How tempting
their four-color purpose,
promoting life’s predatory peepshows,
glorifying weaknesses and mistakes,
venality in disguise,
awaiting the pathetic of our species,
especially at check-out stands,
that place where reading takes place,
unfortunately the only reading for many,
filling minds with more and more toxins.
And yet...
Some of us choose to believe
breath remains in abundance,
to think,
to discern,
to do,
to be something beyond this acidic finger-lickin’ malaise,
something akin to the beginning
when life was Nature's innocent gift,
when a baby's need was to rejoice,
not regret.
Oh, the weight of layered
Acidulous Icing.