Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Dec 2020 Alex Gifford
 Dec 2020 Alex Gifford
Let us come to an understanding
That what I want to do,
And what I need to do
Correlate little
Within the grand scheme
That is the static
Of the universe
the first casualty
of war

the last casualty
of truth

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
I write not for my arts sake...
I write for my hearts ache...

I write not to remind myself...
I write to re-mind myself...
I perform my own exorcisms through my keyboard
 Sep 2019 Alex Gifford
Bo Burnham
I said no to drugs once.
I looked a bag of **** right in the face
and, like a loving but firm father,
I said, "No."
I was really high.
 Sep 2019 Alex Gifford
He gave me dead flowers
So I can smell them every day
The rotten petals falling
The color of decay

The washed out sunflower
The dehydrated leaves
The mold on the water
The color of debris

The richly red rose
Now drooping to the floor
The color of love
Existed no more

But still I saved the flowers
And smelled them every day
And watered them with tears
To let them grow again.
To inflict on tomorrow,
the empty promises of fate

The will to reign indifferent
—the devil’s cruelest form of hate

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
 Aug 2019 Alex Gifford
Ray Jordan
In sleep, I die a little more
Than where I’d been the night before.
My heart, tho’ pounding in my chest,
Wanes each and ev’ry passing breath
For nothing done can now restore.

By day, I live a little less.
Time marches on. I only guess
I’m closer to a bitter end
As Time has never been my friend,
Tho’ much was wasted, I confess.

I pause, contrite, in deep lament
For useful energy— never spent,
Or opportunity— never taken;
Disappeared— left forsaken,
Wond’ring where my youth was sent?

Now, I could dwell and wonder why
In pity for my clouded eyes,
Or rise, take in, as chances wait
For open heart. It’s not too late
To live before my time to die!
Had a heart attack last year and this poem goes through the process of my return to living.
Next page