Fire Gave Birth To Ash Poem by Hassan Panero

I feel like my father's shoes are too big to fill
That isn't the purpose of living
I'm not here to fill his shoes but to fill my own
I see how far my farther came, yet I realise that I became a joke
How do I appreciate that of which I've not been told the value of

Fire gave birth to ash
The son of ash became smoke,
Tooke in the carbon monoxide
As lungs work independent to the brain
I feel alone amongst millions
Yet I feel constantly observed
In a motion to impress
As the smoke evaporates in between the eyes
Like Farther & Son
Am I giving birth to flame, or to ash?
Ash is left behind smoke and I must give birth to fire

Weighed down with baggage
We know we'd be better without it, but we hang on
We can't put it down, unless we label them first
In the luggage, wisdom is like the hidden treasure with no price tag
But so often it is recycled like ash, becoming fire, becoming smoke
We spend too much time on virtual space, virtually here, virtually there,
Not really here or there
Its easy to project the thought of yourself in virtual space, because you never really home

I see the world as a pit stop, on the way
The beauty of the world is imperfect, incomplete
Beauty is movement, talking touching, a sixth sense that we all share.
The quicker you come to terms, the quicker you will respond
You can learn every second, if pay attention, being focused attracts things to be clear
Like an eye, like an ear, the difference between listening & hearing
The lens you see life though should be clear,
But we became addicted to another lens and watch programmes to be programmed,
Thinking migrated from the noise of stupidity
Reinstall the lens that we fell to ignore to view the world, have look out the window
You're already home.