Poetry 1

These are the first haikus I`ve written in years. My apologies.

It is the desert,
Not the fruitful oasis,
Which is the mirage.

Brine-surfaced waters
And crowded exhaust-choked streets
Still reflect heaven.

Labor and trouble
Topped by disease, fear, and loss:
Sin outside and in.

Who wants to be him?
Poor, Scowling moto Mayan.
I can´t see myself.

Minds sharp as a blade
Open my envious side,
Wish I could. I can?

Bacteria wait;
Most parasites are patient.
They`ll outlive us all.

We labor to sleep,
We sleep to work or sleep.
We must escape this.

We can´t escape this:
Our failures become our norms;
Dying, are you surprised?

Living, are you surprised?
Quick, find out what separates
You from animals.