THE FOLLOWING IS WHAT MANY MAY REFER TO AS A POEM.
By: Rodolfo Perez
Our memories are like Holden or Bateman.
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.