What's to Change?

 
When I switch the lights off I'm laying
on a desolate beach. No disgruntled gulls
cawing their compassion for the land-struck crows.


Everybody wants to change the world
but they're not willing to change themselves.
We are all branded by life's differences
floating through the holes that fit,
avoiding, but effected by the ones that don't.

We should revel in this mess we're in,
take off our shoes and dance past sunset
burning with smiles 'til we flake away
or pale in the shade of a life with wires
that control your every function 'cause you,
you think you're making a difference.
Maybe you are.

We care, most of us. Too much; too little,
about starving kids whose hunger's controlled
by not just their string-pullers, but ours too.

If you want to change the world
take a gun, bomb or pen and still die;
change yourself and how your eyes
interpret what you can't understand.

Maybe I'm lazy, passive or lost in this soup
or maybe it's hard enough to care and help
the poor bones at my own hand
so I'm happy to take what's appropriate
and available to thrive as best as I can
in my world, and be concerned
but never let it effect me, my world.
I know I can't make a difference
I can't change the world or be its righteous judge.


I sit with the door open while writing this
because the humidity is cooking my apathy
and I know the open door's letting the melt in
but I like the sound of the cars going by.
With my head down deciphering life
they sound just like waves, just like waves.
Head down, deciphering life and there are no cars.