Buried, buried deep

In the Human Core,

Grievances wash up

Along resentment’s shore.

As we hold onto grudges 

Like seashells we adore.

Buried, buried deep

In the Human Core,

Language’s lattice bears fruit

In the mind’s pergola’s sweet-scented store.

As we pick the ripe analogies,

And bite into the juicy metaphor.

Buried, buried deep

In the Human Core,

Kindness is a strategy

Against natural war.

As we plant affection

To reap in a season of rapport.

Buried, buried deep

In the Human Core,

Evil destroys the soul’s empire

Like a maudering conquistador.

As we choose death

In the rapture of war.

Buried, buried deep

In the Human Core,

Fear stops us cold

Like the steely stare of the minotaur.

As we spend decades

All too scared to explore.

Buried, buried deep

In the Human Core,

Love is life’s 

Rare secret splendor,

Reveling in anticipation

As we approach the sacred door.

Buried, buried deep

In the Human Core,

Death is waiting, stalking 

As we distract ourselves to ignore

The pale fist knocking,

Knocking at our door.

Buried, buried deep

In the Human Core,

Desire runs through veins

Like junkies in a drugstore.

Learning to want

By wanting more.

Buried, buried deep

In the Human Core,

Above hostility’s vent

Of smouldering vapor,

Violence’s magma churns,

Churns the fateful ore.

Buried, buried deep

In the Human Core,

Envy burns a hole

Through desire’s floor.

As we annex our neighbor’s dreams

Through the department store.

Buried, buried deep

In the Human Core,

Truth dwells in tender

Moments of candor,

As we feel the presence

Of truth’s underscore.

Buried, buried deep

In the Human Core,

Secrets become impossible

To ignore,

As weighty and starved 

As a dinosaur.

Buried, buried deep

In the Human Core,

Passion is a frenzied

Esprit De Corp,

As lust becomes 

The secrets we swore.

Buried, buried deep

In the Human Core,

Humility is folded up

In a drawer,

As unassuming as a Sunday 

Chore.

Buried, buried deep

In the Human Core,

Status stands like Estrada

In Ecuador,

As we believe rank is real

In the blood-stained mouth of the carnivore.

Buried, buried deep

In the Human Core,

Shame looks away

Like a guilty whore,

As we confront our past

In what we abhor.

Buried, buried deep

In the Human Core,

Music is felt

In the heart’s beat four,

As the song is sung 

From the troubadour.

Buried, buried deep

In the Human Core,

Ego talks and talks and talks

Like a bloviating bore,

As we see the true mind

When bowing for our encore.

Buried, buried deep

In the Human Core,

Childhood memories

Refresh and restore,

As we wonder if we’ll ever 

Be that happy anymore.