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The Metaphysical Piano

  Sometimes I play the metaphysical piano, My cosmic fingers dancing across the strings of energy that connect the sun, the stars, and my human self, The past, the present, and the future, Or maybe it’s more like a metaphysical violin, For I do not strike the strings with a hammer so much as caress them with the resonance that comes from my own deepest desires, longings, losses, and loves   Sometimes I am a spider sitting on the web of energies that connect all of existence, And I feel the vibrations from very far away, I don’t know where they’re coming from or why, But I can feel the clicking of the wheels of time turning and turning until they reach a new position And I know everything is about to change again As what was lined up becomes disarranged And what will be comes into alignment, And though I feel all of this vibrating through my own self, I cannot tell what is going to be lost Or what is going to become   Those who say we create our own reality are not exactly wrong, For we

Society

  Have we really come so far? Are we really enlightened? Have we truly moved beyond the days when we would go to war against those who didn’t look like us, And burn someone at the stake for not believing as we do? Or has it just gone underground, Subtle systemic oppression, Wherein we devalue and destroy those who cause discomfort or cognitive dissonance For the people in power, Those who easily fit into the mainstream?   Some people think the way to overcome oppression Is to change the mainstream, Give a voice to the voiceless and take the power from the powerful To share with the oppressed, But this doesn’t change anything, Doesn’t alter the fact That we still have one central group deciding what is and is not valuable, Who is or is not valuable…   I think the only way to overcome oppression for good, To actually eliminate it instead of simply Altering its form or hiding it under the niceties of politeness and political correctness Is to stop valuing only certain appearances, Certain

Dust

 Dust is inherently spiritual, As we see from the fact that matter and energy inhabit both sides of the equals sign In the relative equation of life And though I was taught to value the things of the spirit beyond the things of the earth And then vilified for doing that too much , Still, I came to a place where I could be aware that they are and always have been the same   Dust to dust, As they say, And “from the dust you came, to dust shall you return,” But what happens to dust after dust it becomes? In thousands of years when the dust is pulled together again By the turbulence, gravity, mass, and heat That create the stars themselves So that we are born from the dust anew Even as we will one day return to the dust again In the neverending cycle of beginnings and endings, Perhaps dust is the constant in all of this change, And perhaps as we sweep it away with a rag on a Saturday morning, Or bury it in the ground on a Tuesday afternoon, Stare at it in the mirror on a Monday before wor

The Blues

 He walked slowly down the road into town. The slight breeze cooled him only a little as it brushed against his bare arms. They day was humid, and the sun smiled down from the early summer sky. The town was not busy as it was the middle of the work and school day. Soon some of the cafes would start to see lunch customers, and there were a few people inside of the shops, but it was not nearly as busy as it would have been on a weekend. He wondered if he could do what he needed to do in town without… “Hey! Your left arm is blue!” the speaker was a man about his age. He was dressed in a long-sleeved button-down shirt, his goggling eyes rimmed by glasses with dark frames. “Everybody’s left arm is blue,” the newcomer said with a sigh. This had happened before, many times in fact. “We don’t talk about that,” Glasses said. He unconsciously rubbed his hand down the sleeve on his left arm. “We are polite and we wear long sleeves. You… you bear your blueness for the whole world to see!”

The Loving Little Puppy Dog

She was an adorable little fuzzball, all wriggly and scrappy. She loved truly and fiercely and without limit all that surrounded her: the soft green grass, the scent of flowers on the wind, the taste of chicken bits the small humans fed her when the tall ones weren’t looking, her brothers and sisters, and everything else besides. Mostly, though, she loved the humans. Some were big and tall. They came to bring food and water, and she ran up to them with a wagging tail and twined herself around their legs. She lived for their warm caressing and the praise they would give as they whispered, “Good girl!” Others were small and fast, like her. They would throw balls and bones, play tug-of-war with the rope, and race with her until they tumbled together down the sloping green hills all loose blades of grass and dirt and love. As she grew, her love grew also, but she found the world was not always kind. Sometimes the bright blue skies would turn gray and pour cold, driving rain upon her. T

Make-Believe

 Author's Note: This short story is part of my dystopian anthology series called "Panicdemic." You can find another story from the anthology on  this post .  *** Her mommy and daddy loved her. That’s why they had decided to keep her safe. She was lucky, luckier than anyone else in the world, than anyone she saw on TV or News , than almost anyone she talked to online or on her phone. She was safe. That’s what they told her, what they had been teaching her since she could remember. At first, she learned this through the glass windows and from the large, Michelin man suits that called themselves her parents. Now that she was a big girl, she had her own phone and laptop, so she could log on and see her mommy and daddy’s faces for the first time. The suits did not allow for that, and it had been hard to make out their faces through the hazy blue lights from the purifiers near the windows. Mommy had explained to her that out there in the world there was something called “ge

Creating Darkness

 In a world bent on valuing only light, We create so much darkness By leaving anyone with any sort of difference, difficulty, or pain Alone, By causing shame and inauthenticity as we label certain people “Deviant,” By deciding certain expressions of humanity are more valuable than others   We all dream of better futures, But we judge and devalue those who make choices that are different than our own, Slander and malign those who, Through no fault of their own, Have lives that are less than our perfect ideal, And if anyone has been through anything at all, We force them to hide it because it might make us uncomfortable   We deem some worthy of our time and others unworthy of our effort Chasing happiness, light, life, and joy, We create so much sorrow, darkness, death, and agony Because of what we do not value, Who we do not embrace, And the overall message we send: You are not, as you are, worthy; you do not, as you are, matter   We create so much darkness when we convey these messages,