I remember things in an order that is strange,
I can’t quite seem to arrange,
Middle, beginning, and end.
I think I’ve gone ‘round the bend.

I want to live in an age of letters
Of horse-carriages and cobbled roads
Maybe I glorify the past too much
But nowadays it seems we’re always in a rush

I would like to meet my true potential
I don’t think he’d be so provincial
I’d like for him to be influential
Maybe even presidential
And life would not be so abysmal
Hedonistic ways not quite so sinful
To friends and family essential
Words not so banal and artificial
But instead heartening and meaningful

I wish I could find
The correct words and sequence
Of them to explain

I had a dream I lost my voice
And could not speak to anyone
My isolation was not by choice
And of recourse I had none

In a “wise passiveness“ I sit
Able to conquer any fit.
Wounded is my melancholy
When he meets his deft enemies
My Serenity, and Spirit

Show the world you’re happy and revel in its enmity

My disposition dour
My mood sour
My hopes far
My writing sub-par
My love unfulfilled
My benignity killed
My despair unrivaled
My hate unbridled
My dreams lost
My fingers crossed
Your ignorance solidified
Your blushing brides
Your taut careers
Your abundance of fears
Your loving families
Your dogmatic homilies
Your sole provision,
Your myopic vision,
Your happy world
Your credulity impearled
Lost to the material world.

Despair of a furtive root,
I try to keep the time at bay;
My ambition is rendered moot
And I begin to dread the day

And though I know it seems inane
My reality lives in dreams,
While my life is but a dream-I feign,
Since my life is faulty-it seems

Lost somewhere between hate and love,
apathy versus ambition
And the desire thereof,
Must I imitate affection?

Is love found? Or is it produced?
Is purpose found? Or is it set?
Is zeal found? Or is it induced?
Someone who knows I have not met.

I sought and searched for something new
But found and obtained something old,
I try and try to start anew
Instead I find I grow more cold

Our lives are fleeting and bitter,
I cannot seem to find content.
Through love and hate do I flitter
So I shall remain despondent...

A resurgent nihilistic philosophy
A second lost generation
Disillusioned with the being of nations
Lost in their own antipathy
Confused by new sensations

A political theorist I am not
I like to wander in hills and clouds
And pick out kindred spirits in crowds
A thousand wasted battles fought
A thousand raggedy burial shrouds

The bohemians revel in their nonsense
Shall I my conceits and imaginations forsake?
Maybe a decent Lawyer I would make?
What is real and what is performance?
Which side of me shall I deem fake?

To which should I my attentions give
My unceasing love for liberty,
or a discontented bourgeoisie?
Material things I need to live
Yet still I am most lifted by poetry