Is this how we call them?
We know the word “persons”.
The word “bad” is what touches suspicion.
Tomorrows are full with persons.
Strangers who become the faces of momentary reflection.
Strangers who become the faces of endless contemplation.
The mind stumbles when “bad” enters.
Yet wholeness in this never enters.
It remains somewhere
Beyond the flickering substance,
Beyond the concrete truth.
“Bad” is not enough.
Should I call you bad and get it over with?
Should you call me bad
And sigh with disdained affection?
Deprived wholeness darkens the scenery of thoughts.
Let me be bad and get it over with.
Define me as most dictionaries do
Vicious, or malicious.
But can you get it over with?
Darkens the scenery of thoughts,
And you are lost.
Within persons, strangers, life.
You knew them once,
But now they’re bad.
Private gazing ways
“I love the way your fingers sway”.
And suddenly they’re bad.
Like rushing rain on a summer’s day.
A change of dress.
Yellow, with a slight hint of black.
Silence merged with sun.
Is “bad” ever enough?