An Nth Stream Of Consciousness Poem by Edmundo Farolan

Toblerone munching as the fan above blows,
Raining outside
It's spring in Vancouver,
Everything flows
Including flowers
Ready to blossom.
It's June and still no blossoms.
What do you expect?
This is Canada.
Always a step or two behind the USA.

Thoughts that are thoughtful
Thoughts that are thoughtless,
Covid 19,
Quarantine
Only walk around,
Line up to get groceries,
Wear your mask, stay 6 feet away,
Makes you just feel like staying at home and doing nothing, simply doing nothing because there's nothing to do but wait,
Like waiting for Godot,
Like waiting for something to happen,
Some vaccine to end this pandemic.

But even if it ends,
We'll still be waiting for other things like death, hope, misery, happiness, sadness, and all kinds of human emotions.

There's never anything satisfying in human life.
Epstein with his billions was unhappy raping
Girls who were 14 years old.
Money doesn't buy happiness nor perversions
And so Epstein kills himself
For being unhappy.

I'm just a writer,
I'm poor,
I only think
And I try to be humble,
Try to understand the human folly
The Human condition
Just thoughts
Just words
To feel I'm not alone.
Words are my companions
Thoughts are my companions
And I put them together
To be me, the poet, and what for?
So others can read my words and thoughts?
Will they learn? Will they be emotional with this nth stream of consciousness?

I don't know. Only each and everyone to his consciousness,
To his stream,
To the joyful and unjoyful emotions of being human,
Perhaps absurd,
Like life is absurd,
Life is profane,
Life, life, life,

Then death comes
All of a sudden
Unprepared
In your sleep
Or in other ways.