How To Live: An Obnoxious Cycle - Poem by Mitchell Rossa
In life there are two branches.
In life there is right, and there is wrong.
In life the hard decision is not always the right one.
In life it only makes sense to be right
In life that sense - that form of perception- only lasts till you are faced with the problem.
In life what you want to be right, is intended to be wrong in nature.
And then you realize, what was once hard/difficult is now done at ease
And what once done at ease is now a perplex quandary
And the major of your manner is changed, new focuses come and pass
And now you know what is right and what is wrong. - Honest and true/Base and vile
If.. If.. If.. A thousand ifs and only one it.
If nothing is said, then it is not heard.
If nothing wrong happens, then it is not news.
If what is new is not news, then what is new?
If that what is wrong is new, than what is old?
Is this not wrong, to see failure and artifact as new, and success and innovation as not?
But sometimes in life you wish to be like the madman and the tree:
The madman laughs at the rain;
The tree stands free.
But that is probably not much of an option:
Or is it?
Life is made of conflict:
Or is it?
Without conflict: have you not lived?
... Can this be true?
Without dreams, or purpose, life is dull, and meaningless.
It is shame that I cannot be the wanderer and the traveler.
Many decisions, an infinite amount of answers for each, and an equal amount of incorrect ones..
Is life just a gamble,
A flip of a coin?
A gamble.. a gamble.. does that not imply equal opportunity?
So taking the hard road, is just as lucrative as the easy?
Is it not a shame: that to be heard you must be ashamed?
You can purchase pillows.. Bed covers.. all 'comforter's that can be bought.
Doesn't this imply comfort can be bought? A way to get help in dealng with the struggles.
Something is only worth as much as you would give to have it... Right?
Life is tentative.
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Mitchell Rossa's Other Poems
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You