THE FOLLOWING IS WHAT MANY MAY REFER TO AS A POEM.
Old
Reliable
By: Rodolfo Perez
Our
memories are like Holden or Bateman.
Unreliable.
Whether
we experience the memories to which please us, is a mystery.
What
do we see?
A
green pasture, isolated from the thoughts of devastation?
Or
a teapot over a turned-off stove?
This
endless pursuit that ends in a bloodstained fit.
To
take a bow on a worn out stage.
Civilization
does not advance on a green pasture,
But
we still look for it, whether or not we leave society behind.
We
are all the swindled, the hoodwinked, the person waiting for the teapot to
boil.
Never
able to escape the wishes of the mind.
Barbed
wire, fire, desire.
Happiness
is not a movie, these big screens with moving pictures.
Happiness
is a stopwatch.
Or
a paycheck.
I
have experienced happiness in my past.
But
it was never eternal.
Eventually
we all go back to work,
Attempting to find those experiences once
more.
Only
to reset the stopwatch once more.
P.E.N.T.C.I.
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