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regretPoems
Amongst the living, There are throngs of walking dead Attempting to wake. Alive enough to move, but Not enough to know they’re not. The students disperse From long halls lined with classrooms, Like deer from the corn. Each fearful of what’s to come, The mystery of the night. The clouds, high above The cold, dark, midnight skyline, Are full of questions. Quickly falling into me, The conundrum of the age. Landing on my ears, Caught like rain in a tin roof On the mountain’s edge. Je vois le réponse juste, Mais je ne la comprends pas. I must understand, I must know what I cannot, My Etruscan scrolls. All the last literature, Now just embers in the pit. All of the paintings, Thrown off their walls to the floor, Destroyed by soil. All of their men, deceased. All of their boys are just boys. However, in time, The boys will grow into men As the sun smolders. Spinning madly in its place, Until that final moment. When time stops ticking And the cosmos wont expand, A last kiss goodbye. Calm and collected, we stand Staring into the barrel. Calm and collected, I must be kidding myself. Is this collected? Already segregated As if the show has ended. As if we’ve already Been scorched by solar winds, Left for dead by friends.
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Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 11:12 PM UTC
Death of a Star
Amongst the living, There are throngs of walking dead Attempting to wake. Alive enough to move, but Not enough to know they’re not. The students disperse From long halls lined with classrooms, Like deer from the corn. Each fearful of what’s to come, The mystery of the night. The clouds, high above The cold, dark, midnight skyline, Are full of questions. Quickly falling into me, The conundrum of the age. Landing on my ears, Caught like rain in a tin roof On the mountain’s edge. Je vois le réponse juste, Mais je ne la comprends pas. I must understand, I must know what I cannot, My Etruscan scrolls. All the last literature, Now just embers in the pit. All of the paintings, Thrown off their walls to the floor, Destroyed by soil. All of their men, deceased. All of their boys are just boys. However, in time, The boys will grow into men As the sun smolders. Spinning madly in its place, Until that final moment. When time stops ticking And the cosmos wont expand, A last kiss goodbye. Calm and collected, we stand Staring into the barrel. Calm and collected, I must be kidding myself. Is this collected? Already segregated As if the show has ended. As if we’ve already Been scorched by solar winds, Left for dead by friends.
regret
Written by
regret
American
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 11:12 PM UTC
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