the lack and the loss

I have hidden tears.

not from sorrow's claims

but emotionally speaking,

as if curtains hang as waterfalls,

as if to soothe,

the inanities of human's blind actions,

the fidgets of small-mindedness 

that besiege as selfish interactions,

the solemness that each being experiences,

as desperate isolation from the whole.

I am in a mindful weep,

of the whole that it holds of itself as separate,

and all of the consequences that follow,

as the derangements of governments,

the creation of castes 

and divisions by perspectives,

as evidence of prejudice as need,

not for the sorrows that result,

but for the loss of soul embodiment as presence.

oh, it is still there,

but massively unidentified,

in the way that triumph has blind rights,

victory delegates a division to be evident,

verdicts having excessive lifespans,

and accusationals having rights of passage.

the essentials of truth are buried

in emotional depths, 

that language spoken, 

can not harvest.

I am the ocean as if tears,

for the lifetimes of existences,

as a planet's ware

and yet to see and be party 

to what humans do,

to be in and of them,

as they carry on and act out, 

these dastardly versions, 

that expel of existence,

as if the discharge of social ineptness,

as if the collective lives of its foulmouth alive,

when that becomes the crust of awareness,

that all beings have to bite on and chew.

I am vast for want,

sent astray from deeply within,

from beyond what knowing can justify.

I am not saying right or wrong,

not saying good or bad,

but I weep 

for the lack of,

and the subsequent loss . . .