one stop: this is not haiku

(lower case~lower caste)
truth is a commodity,
afforded to few, too few,
who refine it into food
suitable for the masses,

packaged in plastic pop
top containers, like apple sauce,
it slides down, with out thought,
or need to chew

& lies in wait along
grocery store check out
aisles for those gullible
enough pull the wings
off dragonflies so they
can experience true
freedom.

once consumed, please recycle the container at least

ancient wisdom blows
on the wind, for those
that listen, but to the rest
its flatulence, they
used to sniff, but
now barely notice,
walking in unison,
together yet alone.
love is the wind,
the wind is &

life is not a personal pronoun, its a verb.

observe & beware the
shadow puppets you cast
under the sun, they
walk around after the
lights go out and
spread your Message,
on eight legs, each
one a deadly sin, &
the extra for the next
one we think up.

we are good at that,
then cover them in
make up.

if we took our skin off
at the door and hung it
in the hall coat closet,
would you still stop at
the mirror and smile at
yourself every time
you walk in?

the interior is often lost to the pressure.

during breakfast, these things
play havoc on my synapses,
luckily I am eating Captain Crunch
so the noise of my masticating
drowns them enough to
capture this for you.

the berries make the milk taste yummy.

this is not a haiku.

Hey every body, its one shot wednesday and that means its time to write something poetic. The doors open at 5 pm. Won't you come join us. Smiles.

submitted to the 10DOM writing competition.