Poem #280

What a paradox it is that this material life 
feels like only a half-life.  
It’s not about the body that contains our soul, 
it’s about the material things we use 
to fill the holes around us, not realizing  
that these things make an echo that pierces through us, 
not realizing that these things make the empty spaces bigger.  

Am I caught up in the net of society 
or have I fallen into a net of my deteriorating state?  
I cannot adapt to the outside, 
I cannot live outside of it.  

I choke up at the thought of the dreams I had, 
I lose my sense of gravity when my mind 
wanders through the unknown beaches and sits under the palm trees. 
Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be? 
No four walls, no price of living, 
just freedom and our birthright to be human.