a language for that

the confines of intelligence are,

as if the shoes worn in a linear-mind walk,

muffling along, on the earth from direct dialogue.

yet the earth and emotions privately

go off hand in hand,

even if only as a staring at each other, wondering,

wanton for a closer sense of togetherness.

we all went for the gimmicks 

of the mental equivalence.

some mindful grasp,

as if superior to the deeper nuances of feelings.

learning of earth's methods in cooperative ways.

and now we only superficially commonly agree to agree,

as mental status reigns supreme.

we are costly and damaging by our means,

yet funny in the way we invented our narratives.

made stage presence, 

a way of life,

made everything else into a prop-fest, 

assigned themes of contesting and turmoil,

seek superficial resolution, 

as a made up thing,

make all the natural teachers, 

products of extinction.

we are by our hand at leadership.

if we die off,

intelligence will be our means.

and methods will have advanced us, 

into overwhelm.

we are all in the bleachers of the mind,

concerned about seating arrangements

and the relevancy of a better point of view. 

all we can do, 

is outthink others thinking.

still facing fear as the piñata,

as worthy of our responsive reactions.

self is a virus, 

as we are breed our selves, 

into its isolation.

collective thought only seeks grooming,

as if acting out is a form of stylish form.

nature never stopped whispering amongst itself.

it seems to be a secret language spoken,

that we only interpret, 

to further our own means.

the mirroring we do,

is our own personal enemy.

and how we love is like that,

is as expertise, 

now a wardrobe we wear.

we are forever committed to arriving.

we make so much fanfare out of novelty.

linear thinking is much that way, ongoing.

heartfelt is in a vile under safe keeping.

our drug of preference is conclusions.

its side effects keep us undisclosed.

emotions don't have an original smile any more.

the meditation of being

is now the aversion of downtime. 

yet presence still attempts its smile.

we carry on, 

as an expression of our logic.

everything authored is symbolic.

stay tuned is always a double entendre.  

mindfulness wants a drink of water,

a swallow of wisdom, 

that is thirst quenching.

for us, it is emotionally hard, 

to give up on knowing.

hurt is a language we sign on.

with so many dialects of pain, 

to speak from.

yet we all learn to speak it.

but response to it, 

is the challenge. 

for a inner dialogue to occur

is, as emotions comprehend. 

but basically who of us,

within each of us, 

is essentially in charge? 

for any of us,

to have the capacity 

to be in response?

as of yet,

we don't seem to 

have a language,

to fully respond for that . . .