Apathetic empathy that should motivate and inspire mocks me.
No resolutions or solutions, just the proverbial binky to suckle.
Pacifying behaviors, disguising agendas, hidden like faces on Halloween.
Escape shrouded in futility, turning sunlight into darkest day.
Where is the hope that is implied via electronic boxes,
Connected to oblivious assholes, secretly secreting away the living of the masses?
Words dance like manic clowns in your head,
None of which can be spoken,
For tears wait like a spigot to be turned, filling your glass with angst ridden excuses disguised as reasons with no hope of resolution.
We cry in our head, for the frustration is heavy.
We wrack our brain for the problem wants solving.
A wise man once said, the solution to every problem is in the problem itself.
New questions beg like street urchins in a Middle Eastern marketplace.
What is the problem?
Truly, what is the problem?
What do we know?
Seats beg for bodies when passion is what's missing,
Transferred so sporadically no one truly gets their fill.
Heads are clouded with drugs that turn those manic clowns into a psychedelic nightmare that never ends,
Creating frenemies in the minds of the users.
Fear is a side dish, purchased with every meal; breakfast, lunch and dinner.
These are problems; where is the solution?
The answer is in the riddle and looking beyond the obvious is madness.
Madness like trying to solve an equation when you don't know the rules of the problem.
This is but the rule of life.
I want you to know.
With bated breath you wait because in your heart you're a fixer.
When life pushes you to give up, you say, "But I haven't tried this yet."
The answer is simple yet complex.
You can't save the world.
There. Done. Finis. End Game.
You can not save the world, and to believe otherwise is prideful madness.
Why?!
I hear your voice crying out before the sentence is closed.
I see the mutinous set of your jaw, the whirring of cogs in your brain.
You have one last plan, and how dare I say its over?
Dearly beloved friend,
You can not save the world simply because not everyone wants to be saved.
In my head Project Pat sings, Don't save them, they don't wanna be saved,
Even as your arm extends on one last rescue mission.
Rebellion glints like evil gold waiting to be mined in the brown of your eyes.
Your chest rises and falls with the beat of your heart.
Still reaching out, you cry,
I can save them all!
But alas no.
You aren't a super hero and Disney Pixar didn't write this life.
The will to rebel will flow like blood running from a million cuts, as the masses you try to save
Turn on you like rabid beasts.
The desire for "my way" mentalities will be the storm blowing away your plans,
Scattering them, forcing you back to the drawing board.
Time and frustrating time again.
Until finally you wake up and recognize that you can't plan in a tornado.
At some point you must seek shelter or the wind will blow you away.
While madness and mayhem flows around you, get to the eye of the storm.
Recognize that some things will be lost,
But that which is meant to remain, will stand.
Those people, places or things that are meant to see the light of tomorrow's day,
That which you can truly rely on and trust,
Will be saved to see you through the next storm.
All you have to do is take that one step.
Take it; I believe in you.
Hello. My name is Pam and I'm a fixer.
...
But I can't save the world.
Thank you.
Now, walk into your freedom.
No resolutions or solutions, just the proverbial binky to suckle.
Pacifying behaviors, disguising agendas, hidden like faces on Halloween.
Escape shrouded in futility, turning sunlight into darkest day.
Where is the hope that is implied via electronic boxes,
Connected to oblivious assholes, secretly secreting away the living of the masses?
Words dance like manic clowns in your head,
None of which can be spoken,
For tears wait like a spigot to be turned, filling your glass with angst ridden excuses disguised as reasons with no hope of resolution.
We cry in our head, for the frustration is heavy.
We wrack our brain for the problem wants solving.
A wise man once said, the solution to every problem is in the problem itself.
New questions beg like street urchins in a Middle Eastern marketplace.
What is the problem?
Truly, what is the problem?
What do we know?
Seats beg for bodies when passion is what's missing,
Transferred so sporadically no one truly gets their fill.
Heads are clouded with drugs that turn those manic clowns into a psychedelic nightmare that never ends,
Creating frenemies in the minds of the users.
Fear is a side dish, purchased with every meal; breakfast, lunch and dinner.
These are problems; where is the solution?
The answer is in the riddle and looking beyond the obvious is madness.
Madness like trying to solve an equation when you don't know the rules of the problem.
This is but the rule of life.
I want you to know.
With bated breath you wait because in your heart you're a fixer.
When life pushes you to give up, you say, "But I haven't tried this yet."
The answer is simple yet complex.
You can't save the world.
There. Done. Finis. End Game.
You can not save the world, and to believe otherwise is prideful madness.
Why?!
I hear your voice crying out before the sentence is closed.
I see the mutinous set of your jaw, the whirring of cogs in your brain.
You have one last plan, and how dare I say its over?
Dearly beloved friend,
You can not save the world simply because not everyone wants to be saved.
In my head Project Pat sings, Don't save them, they don't wanna be saved,
Even as your arm extends on one last rescue mission.
Rebellion glints like evil gold waiting to be mined in the brown of your eyes.
Your chest rises and falls with the beat of your heart.
Still reaching out, you cry,
I can save them all!
But alas no.
You aren't a super hero and Disney Pixar didn't write this life.
The will to rebel will flow like blood running from a million cuts, as the masses you try to save
Turn on you like rabid beasts.
The desire for "my way" mentalities will be the storm blowing away your plans,
Scattering them, forcing you back to the drawing board.
Time and frustrating time again.
Until finally you wake up and recognize that you can't plan in a tornado.
At some point you must seek shelter or the wind will blow you away.
While madness and mayhem flows around you, get to the eye of the storm.
Recognize that some things will be lost,
But that which is meant to remain, will stand.
Those people, places or things that are meant to see the light of tomorrow's day,
That which you can truly rely on and trust,
Will be saved to see you through the next storm.
All you have to do is take that one step.
Take it; I believe in you.
Hello. My name is Pam and I'm a fixer.
...
But I can't save the world.
Thank you.
Now, walk into your freedom.
(c) Pamela Shropshire 2012
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