A Game of Cat's

Isn't it perfect that 

life is just a stream of X's and O's?

Each one blocking out the other as they go.

..

Doesn't it just makes sense 

that all that we see in front of us are 

cancellations, one after the other?

..

It's a string of blackout-poetry, 

and we didn't know that all the words we obscured 

and covered up contained the original meaning of life.

..

Haven't you wondered if it was true 

that who you are is just replaced 

moment by moment with someone else?

..

And this abstract version of things 

that you're trying to understand is just 

an infuriating game of cat's

that no one seems to be able to win.

Every Moment an Instinct 30/30

Oh, how we compare ourselves to caterpillars.

But it’s like the moths gravitating towards bright lights 

then dying that we mimic.

How we tell children that dreaming is where happiness is made.

That when dreams come true, 

wings unfold with unimaginable colors and take flight.

Yet, the lives of birds, insects and flowers are not so beautiful as we are told.

Every moment an instinct. 

They are not joyful for their magnificence.

Our happiness on the other hand has the habit 

of transforming like clouds to tears.

It’s not true that rain comes from the sky, 

and rain is not falling to the ground.

Why do we lie to ourselves?

At the top, will the view will be enough?

From the top, there is only room for one, 

looking down,

                                              looking down.

From the top, 

       there is 

                only 

                              looking 

                                         down.

Leaving Marks 19/30

Of worries I've shared many. 

Some thrown to winds,

Some dashed to dust,

Leaving marks,

With ancient rust. 

Today's #NaPoWriMo Prompt is write a Landay. 

Landays are 22-syllable couplets, generally rhyming. The form comes from Afghanistan. 

All at Once Yet Never Together 15/30

Heart and mind. 

                                   A metaphor murmuring 

                                                          And melting evermore

                             Into puddles of 

       Desire and despair. 

    Always all at once yet never together. 

                            Which one could stand alone?

As the sea and the shore join endlessly 

                                                         Rock by pebble by 

                              Sand to silt. 

         I am left to reflect how the 

                                           Waning tide suffers 

                                                                          no remorse 

                                                       As it leaves me. 

                                                                    Returning later, 

                                           It will not grieve that

I have gone.