People are Strange

Yes Jim, people are strange.

Strangeness, a liquid that all humanity drinks.

Reshaping faces,

Making them squared, yellow, circular, pink.

Strangeness, liquifying characters,

Some rapid and flowing like waterfalls.

Others dominated by fluidity,

Shape shifters,

Changing appearance upon each mirror glance.

Like the waves of seas,

Altering upon each breeze.

Some pompous and bold,

Like the Great Pericles,

Determined to build a temple to worship the goddess of all wisdom.

Others absorbing that wisdom,

With eyes as wise as owls, hooting with each spoonful of knowledge.

Obtaining, receiving from the Word of predecessors.

Others producing, competing to outshine contemporaries.

A blend of past, present and future creating a pleasant mixture of peculiarity.

For yes Jim, people are strange.

Their habits are on a scale of odd to even.

Their ways unfamiliar or way too familiar.

Some beg on their knees for a nickel

While others stand tall, preparing for war.

Some proud, protesters of peace,

Others executors, aiming unaware targets.

Some hungry for fame,

While others hide from shame.

Some conniving and seductive,

Convincing with their charisma.

Others bruised and weak, shadowed by insecurity.

Some as loud as a frog’s croak.

Others hushed, a grip wrapped around their throat.

Some minds dull and obtuse,

Others beaten by abuse.

Captains of ships, guiding the way.

Workers on board, slaving away.

An endless ocean of peculiarities.

For yes Jim, people are strange.

For yes Jim, we are all strangers.

© Nicoletta

If this poem had a voice, this is what it would sing…

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