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Poetry by Jason
Written by Jason Loutitt   
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Poetry by Jason
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'Why Through The Wringer'

***remember it is a poem and should not be taken personal but felt with your heart***

- also some background for you prior in that all changes for the spirit involve going through personal confrontation and conflict which we often don't want to or feel we need to...



Dammed along our journey

Dammed for our slight

Dammed for our judgement

Dammed in the name of containment

By trying to hinder

All that is us

Known, perceived, distinguished and the other

A script is written separate from the spoken

A life is lived no matter what time unfolds

Where were you when I needed you

Aside from inside me questioning my worth

Progress for us isn’t advancement for one

Hope needs be layed down in the deepest

Darkest and lightest of hearts

In those who are the other

Knowing almost too much has been lost

With structural perception misguided in the anthill

Who came before you

Will always come after you

And where is the what

That you were damming

When you should of been loving?

Losing time and cornering possibility

For the dire sake

Of one generation of convenience

Rips our wounds beyond any foundations

Trembled off chairs, Eyes

Forever floating in oceans of tears

Holding up a frantic wringing

Of a too close to being dry globe

Why through the wringer?

Define stupid as someone who only defines others as stupid

And you define yourself

Outline life away from your being or of your being

And life defines you

For the wounded bird flaps out of need

Not that it can’t help itself even though it knows it will not fly

For it is a creature that flaps, a lifeforce that must try

Whistling such a sad song about going through the wringer

But then again, that is just what you perceive

Each morning on hearing that sad song

Your elder smiled and knew it could make it through one more day

For perception wrangled from the distracted

Is always clear in it’s own light

And the script though written don’t change the fact

That the healing spiritual light is only wrought

Out of the places no script, perception, knowledge or time

Can reach

It was all so serious, so anxious, so lighted in need

Our storylines tied, knotted, to bleed

Meanwhile this us was not the us of free

Wrapped in battle of sorting just what is it we see

So why through the wringer you asked the bird

Hobbling, flapping and tediously perched

It looked at your two legs and asked

Why don’t you just stand still

It then scratched onto the ground a mark of pursuit

Wrought straight line curved and separate

The soul cries to the skies

Sharing the nature of the wringer

As the simple ask
Of the question itself?
Last Updated ( Wednesday, 19 March 2014 )
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