A Box Of Tissue
Even in winning a contest won,
by Lawrence S. Pertillar
The doing does not guarantee...
Everyone left feeling a victory.
Especially when a few begin,
To prevent attempts made,
By someone else...
From completing a task that has,
Benefits for all.
But in some places where minds are small,
And impressions to make are bigger...
A downsliding of a quality of life to accept,
To be recognized for what it is...
As a shock to disbelieve,
Thrill seekers would hold their breath.
There are those who make attempts to prevent,
Others who could benefit from any progress made.
Can only be described as being,
Even from rooftops seen,
I use to think my own observances...
Were too critical.
And I did the best I could,
To share my point of view with others.
Who refused the doing to perceive me,
'And the tissue?
Why do you carry a box of tissue? '
Just in case anyone dares me,
To take that 'trip' above the streets...
And view 'my' exaggerations.
While wiping the reality of them away...
From their eyes.
'Why one box? '
I've become ammuned.
Before the tissue,
I use to carry around a roll of paper towels.
I don't need them anymore.
I've been able to control my emotions.
The first visit I took just to be curious,
I climbed the stairs of the nearest building.
Thinking I could escape from this place.
I had one joint and a full bottle of wine.
What I saw from the roof looking down,
Had me crying like a baby.
'What happened to the joint and the bottle of wine? '
I had to have left them there.
On the roof.
Because what I saw,
Was enough for me to want to stay sober.