Faux Art

I thought I’d write a poem or two about a life with nothing new
No content here to fill the lines; no wisdom sure, no stuff of rhymes
I thought I’d wow them with a comment of the times but could not think of what I’d heard or what, if anything, had occurred.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s something here –like minimalistic art,
Or silent films, or symphonies played on kazoo,
It’s rather like a scavenger hunt for life’s great secret or Dan Brown clue.

Oh, come on now—it’s not that bad—a cheap trick rhyme and a simple gag
Must affect the soul in funny ways; a thought not brilliant nor that profound
Might just cause ol’ Huck to lay his young head down and think of Jim
More than Twain may have done—but cause us all to pause amidst the fun.

We learn, you see, in basic ways; astrophysicist , fry cook, or retiree
Story scraps lead us up the learning tree as we finally comprehend life’s
Planned for tease—that death unlocks the big prize door and what we get
We earned before.

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