June 30, 2015

Heals and Dust I Trust

Here I am, no closer to a dream
Or saying what really mean
Using what words I can
To paint a portrait of my troubled mind
Yet not one step closer to peace I find
So what point is there in breathing air
If all I do is wear this dumb stare?
So someone can reassure me its all fine
To keep writing, it will all make sense in time
All life holds be it bitter or sweet
Eventually leads down a lonely road of defeat
So why fight on?
To witness one more dawn
To light some fire
To hope my work might inspire
Some incalculable revolution in thought
That same dusty road every poet has sought




I feel like the last living poet
As if nobody gives a shit anymore
They would all rather have Direct Tv
Then read the likes of me
I provoke thought
They provoke solitary numbness
And if pills have proven anything
Its better to be numb then aware
So where do we go from here
Either keep writing
Or Accept their lifeless stare



Why I Write

Within me
Through you
All these feelings grew
And although little came to flower
All I can do to get through
Is pull these emotions
From my skin with my pen
And gently lace them to paper
Like saying a prayer




O, what has become of my life?
I feel like lately
I’ve spent more time
With the eraser end
Than I have with the graphite.
There is just so little
About which to write
And what there has been
I’d be ashamed to put it to paper.
Is this all I can expect
At my age to occur?
Long drawn out lines lacking rhythm
Maybe I should trade my trusty number 2
Pencil for a pen
Something a little more permanent
Something not so easy to erase
I guess if that is the case
I better find a good women
Before my pen runs dry of ink


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