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Schon in frühen Kindheitstagen
hörst du,
Alles muss Sinn haben.
Nur Sinn im Leben
kann dir Zufriedenheit und Glück geben.
Das ist der Beginn
der verzweifelten Suche nach dem Sinn.
Doch man sollte die Zeit nicht mit Suchen vergeuden,
vielleicht ist
der Sinn des Lebens,
sinnfrei
zu
bleiben.
Leises Wimmern dringt durch den Nebel, der den Schlaf vom Wach sein trennt.
Das Bewusstsein ist träge und braucht eine Weile,
bis es erkennt,
dieses Stöhnen entrang sich dem eigenen Mund
und tut kund
von dem Schmerz dem unsäglichen,
dem unerträglichen.
Ach warum kann ich nicht
verweilen im Land, das jenseits der Dämmerung liegt,
wo es keine Unbill gibt.
Nur Frieden, Freude, Wohlsein und Wonne
auf einem warmen Stein liegend in der Sonne,
an einem Teich mit plätscherndem Wasserfall
und überall
Blumen mit betörendem Duft.
Der Ruf eines Adlers schallt
hoch in der Luft.
Es quakt ein Frosch,
im Gebüsch raschelt ein Tier.
Warum kann ich nicht einfach bleiben, hier
in meiner Oase, wo man nur Gutes empfindet
und alles Schlechte einfach verschwindet.
Und doch tröstet es mich zu wissen,  dass ich ab und an,
zum Ort meiner Träume zurückkehren kann.
Catcher in the Rye
Men all learn to lie
Women learn to cry
shrinks learn why
soldiers learn to die
angels learn to fly
we all say goodbye
regret we never try
Marty's Mass

  He died sudden like with
  a blood infection that ******
  his heart valve up. He was
  cremated into basic atoms of
  ash reduced to a jar of himself.
  He was always bigger than life
  and the irony is blatant. Thursday
  is a mass for him and I'll be there
  somber faced and heart of tears
  to pay my respects. I want to laugh
  out loud at his stories and jokes
  he told. The man could sell you
  your own soul and you'd thank him
  for saving you! He was a Gentleman.
  That's the greatest compliment ever.
I'm just a junkyard dog.
Old scars tell my story.
I'm left water and scraps.
Alone in the dark I sleep
and dream of a better life
and love with *******
I smell beyond fences.
Love is just out of reach.
Do all poets have favorite children they've created? This is one of my favorites but please don't tell the others.
 Mar 2021 Flatfielder
Bailey
Unknown
 Mar 2021 Flatfielder
Bailey
I'm not sure if pain is the right word
Maybe guilt is more accurate
Whatever it is
It's doing a great job
At eating me alive
Why am I surprised by my imperfection?
As a child, media portrayals of heroes
inspired and enticed me to be heroic
but my fallible family and crazy-wired brain
always kept me from being
all I aspired to be
putting me in a constant state
of unease about being me.

You might say, “Welcome to the human race!”
Thank you. I appreciate your hospitality.
I don’t know if it is comforting or scary
to know I’ve got lots of company.
Sometimes both I guess.
I am an old can, expired way past my open date
Fresh is not a word I would use to describe me or my pain
Maybe blunt or numbing or agonizing
Could be a part of my new recipe for life, for living
You see, this old can, has been in the same shelf for last few months and today out of all the **** days out of a year
She decides to open me up
I'm sour, ugly rotten inside til my core my juices; they clump when she began to pour me out
No doubt, I was ready six months ago or maybe even 2019
But now, she can't even enjoy my the sweetness of my whole, golden, buttery flavored goodness
Tosses me like nobody's business,
And yells, "we out of corn"
****! I was happier in the back, with
The spam
#oldexpireddreams#goals#funnypoem
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