She never understood the stories
of forgotten, untamed glories.
It never captured her soul
to be out of control.
She started her days
in dead, boring ways
that kills the personal
with droll seasonals.
Building through adaptation
she goes through life in motions,
and never-ending the serious
she won’t examine the mysterious.
Mysterious…
Mysterious…
He works the mines all day
living for that union pay.
Not thinking, just doing,
he builds dreams in moving.
Does he think of histories
or life’s little mysteries
that creates a world of quest
bringing out life at its best?
Adapting through building
he lives on just willing.
His job is that serious,
so he’ll deny the mysterious.
Mysterious…
Mysterious…
Give to me the mysterious.
T.M. Prada
Copyright © 2016
March 12th, 2016
Terri M. Prada 
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