Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Oct 2018
'Curse darned demon
     of that thar
     underworld nudged me abet
as a permanent solution
     to a temporary problem
     i.e. principally no money
     and rising debt
not for a long time didst

     I feel so distressed didst,
     where no amount of
     optimism could get
back joie de vivre ebullient elan,
     that oft times fines me jet
ting hither and yon, to and fro,
     until spent energy met
fatigue, whence sand

     man gave his pet
tickle yore sleep inducing
     sprinkling granular set
tat heave, albeit
     non off fence sieve tet
deep slumber didst
     hone like a whet
stone, less drastic alternative versus

     welcoming grim reaper, yet
eventually, aye reckon
     this human machine
     moost give up the ghost
boot not now,
     cuz this moment hike ken boast...,
an immediate diminution
     of anguish, viz unlike as told

yesterday, the monthly doled
social security automatic direct
     electronic deposit extolled
joyus relief, viz checking account
     death rattle didst sense a gold
din shimmer and em bold
qua slight monetary profusion
     lowering destitution,

     asper dearth of monies
     allowing ease to un fold,
which severe dire straits rolled
forward respite
     with money for nothing
     oppressive full (rick kitty)
     full Nelson neck
     i.e. near choke hold

rejuvenated brittle psyche mold
during self feeling auld
also attendant temp
     purred critical pull
away woe decreased yielding
     (all "talk" and no action),
     following thru with desperate,
sans destructive (irreversible)

     actions unable to hold,
metaphorical tiger of despair
     by the figurative tail,
     where soul of mine
     almost got "sold"
for a pittance (NOT penitence)
     to the Prada devil
     (or similar facsimile thereof)

     rational self didst scold
     spewing idle "FAKE"
     hollw we ning suicidal threats,
     not necessarily bold
cuz, this scribe did not write

     his last (nor first,
     second, third...) will
     and testament before death,
     would hove found
    me stiff and cold.
Written by
matthew scott harris  64/M/schwenksville, penna
(64/M/schwenksville, penna)   
119
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems