"bemoan" poems
There are clouds of sound and noise
That utter thoughts in a muffled voice,
Gestures of hands simply won’t cast out
Cloudy skies in days of doubt.
Like strangers lost in a crowd
Whose cries are buried by the loud,
The loud din of helpless wanderers
Whose presence disrupts and disturbs.
All strangers left on their own,
Islands floating out in the fog;
Orphans with cruel fates to bemoan;
Fates that are swept under the rug.
And who's looking with interest, who reaches down with an arm,
Never so eager to help, neither too late nor too soon?
Who would make this world perhaps a little more warm
And freshen the skies of our cloudy afternoon?
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 2:18 AM UTC
Under the sheets of emotional armor,
A shy little girl masquerades as a martyr.
She’s the Queen of Deceit with her lies getting smarter,
While every tale told draws her self even farther
From finding out why she’s emotionally bothered
By all of the men in her life: like her father
Who only was trying the best for his daughter
And striving to be something more than a pauper
But coming up short. Who knows how much harder
He’d try if she wasn’t an argument starter?
The guilt and the shame from the family slaughter
Has made her insane and continues to bar her
From finding out just what the world has to offer.
Luckily she won’t have to be here much longer;
In fairy-tale land, there's nothing can harm her.
She suddenly finds herself all alone
With nobody’s thoughts to address but her own.
This is the time when she’d pick up the phone,
Demanding a savior to hear her bemoan
About all the problems that she’s ever known,
But what she doesn’t know is a friend can’t atone
For the lack of a man with his patience to loan
To a lost little girl whose bad temper is known.
All she needs is a strong one that doesn’t condone
All the treacherous lies and the hatred she’s shown.
It’s hard to deny all the reaping she’s sewn.
She’ll have to tread soft lest her cover is blown
And everyone finds out she still hasn’t grown
Through the hundreds of tempers and tantrums she’s thrown.
Hopefully soon she can bury the bone
And calm herself into a nostalgic zone
Where smiles and candles were filling her home
And love and affection were all that was loaned.
Enlightenment comes when you realize you’re prone
To the wrath of the heartache that comes with the throne.
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 8:07 AM UTC
I was in a darkness of my own
Within a night I had not known
I chose to stumble in my pace
With all hope of light misplaced
On my course a twinkle caught my eye
A lonely star in the sky above
Getting ever brighter as I drew nigh
Then did I see the truth thereof
It was a myriad in mutiny
A constellation that raided the night
Luminous in its beauty
A radiance which compelled my sight
I was in a darkness of my own
Overcome by a light unknown
That eased my path in grace
And all lost hope replaced
It reclined in the cosmos
Calling out to me
Seeming within reach almost
Then I blurred back to reality
A marvel that pulled my soul
By more than figure of speech
To be part of a whole
My flesh could never reach
How daunting a brilliance
I longed for though farfetched
My heart need travel a distance
Fear served only to stretch
It held my tarrying gaze
For only a moment more
Then left me in a daze
Stealing that which I adore
I again stumble in my pace
Having lost my stars in space
Returned to a state I now bemoan
I am in a darkness of my own.
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 5:49 PM UTC
You Sir, Are An Electrician!
**technocrat
— noun
a proponent, adherent, or supporter of technocracy.**
This city boy was expert at
Turning the lights on,
Unlocking the front door,
Putting new batteries in flashlights,
And calling the handyman to
"Please come upstairs"
When the degree of diving difficulty was a
Positive number.
Also,
Freezing the semi-permanently the DVR,
Triggering alarms,
Killing car batteries,
Making laptops question
Human sanity,
Tearing up when reading,
"Some Assembly Required!"
Raised in a city of experts,
He was unskilled in things electric,
Becoming apoplectic,
When a device had an
On/off switch that ignored him.
Somewhat famous he was,
For engaging the inanimate,
In a verbal dialectic,
Which included words highly phonetic,
But unsuitable for children's ears.
She was raised in rural pastures,
Corn fields used for hide n' go seek,
Riding goats after school
Just for fun,
Familiar with innards of
Deus ex machina, a/k/a
Minor engine repairs, and
Doing what he called,
Making reparations.
IOS7, heaven.
Cabling laptop to external devices,
Icing on the cake,
Dis and reassembling a German coffee maker,
Did not require calling an 800 number.
She never read an instruction sheet
Without pleasurable laughing at
Japanese English.
He was unashamed of his skilled
Unskilled characteristics,
For such is the way of the world
In the human kingdom,
Some of us two handed,
some of us, bi-standers.
But upon occasion,
He would bemoan his fate,
Decry his inability to survive
On a post-apocalyptic Earth,
Like the people on tv and movies.
Periodically he would grow morose,
Listless, at his inability to adapt to a
Point Oh world.
Uncomprehending
Icons and symbols whose meaning
Were wholly unintuitive,
He secretly ashamed of his need for
technological ******
She would sense his frustration,
Wipe away his inner condensation,
Climbing into his lap,
Whispering the following:
**You sir, are an electrician
of words, a verbal technocrat,**
Plumber of the depths where
Few fear to tread, explorer of the head,
Restorer of human paintings unmatched,
Without your ilk,
this world would be unbearable,
Your heart's warming silk
Comforts bodies and souls,
Speaking from experience personal.
Then, she flicked his
On/Off switch,
On.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
What is home without our daughter?
What then of all those folk we meet?
When her dimpled smile no longer
Brightens the coming of our feet?
Days drag onward, long nights grow drear
As time so coldly marches on;
And how we miss her golden cheer!
When now those carefree days are gone.
Things we prize are quick to vanish,
Fond hearts we love to pass away;—
And how soon, e'en in life's sorrow
Yearn we for noisy hours to stay.
Eyes grow sad, fades life's brief glow,
For golden days longtime have passed,
And it breaks mother's heart to know—
Gay childhood's day is o'er at last.
Many folk bemoan their trifles,
Trivial things to pass away,
But a daughter lost to childhood
Breaks the heart from day to day.
Laid away tired broken toys;
Her babyish prattle, antics past;
Upon these times we miss her noise.
She has turned a woman at last.
~Hilda~
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 4:38 PM UTC
I. The event wall:
The quarters going coloured:
Red, yellow, limpid azure,
white unalloyed;
at the center, a dark void
lightening, radiating outward -
never breaking the event-horizon.
Reverent circumambulation
by tradition, is done clockwise.
II. Reading the tiles
Is peace in expansion
or contraction?
Incarceration. Staring at the tiles.
Acceptance or rebellion?
Time doesn't tell.
III. Prospect
You are free now:
making a mascot of you,
we have set you free.
While singing paeans
to your greatness yet,
we bemoan how
coolies and ******* are
be-spoiling our home.
Rest in peace!
We'll wait for Christ.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 7:04 PM UTC
My words have been ripped from me
uncovering my naked body below
and I bemoan the cold or mayhap
just existence
My pupils will not focus, a lack of dilation
I am not entombed in life
for I blink with each inhalation
I am subtly encased in flesh
not suffering
simply slipping
Mourning the loss of my language
and when I dream
death pervades my visions
when I wake,
I'm approached by none other than heartbreak
at my most fearful perception
Strength isn't to forcefully remove temptation,
but to resist temptation daily and survive.
A man doesn't reflect until he is imprisoned,
and limited by an external boundary,
I re-forge myself within the internal foundry.
Nov 16, 2010
Nov 16, 2010 at 11:29 PM UTC
Shade giving Sentinels
Custodians of the environment
Infusing oxygenated life
Extending canopies of bliss!
A fine interplay of synthesising solar photons
Food factories to the plant
Self sustainable gifts from the Almighty God!
Bemoan Human apathy
Fragile relations with humankind
Exponential signs of human induced Ecocide!
Oh Humankind!
Oh Humankind!
Wake up to a Nature’s clarion call
Embrace Mother Earths Sentinels
Tree Huggers of the World
Unite in Unison and Eco harmony
Save Trees!
Save Trees!
Cherish God’s Nature
Permeate Environmental Euphony
Demolish reckless Infrastructural Cacophony !!!
Biospherically Yours Forever 🙏🏻
@Nitin Raikar
Sep 6, 2020
Sep 6, 2020 at 2:31 PM UTC
Like Falcons, Kestrels and Hawks
They swoop low to look and stalk
Holding breath for silence sakes
Looking for gullible easy prey
Talons around the throats of the genteel and shy
Uncaring of flowing tears, they make them cry
Recalling a sunny day so bright
When clawed and swooped in delight
Not knowing the heart that would break
That day, piercing ties did penetrate
Learning others spirits would wound
As the Falcon made his way around the night for doom
As his blackness did loom
All were hurt, tears were shed
Face after face he did skim
Heart rending cries that were abhor
For them no tears no more
Never spoken to again, they might
the evil kin do they despise
Torment and cruelty they do throw'
Gnashing one's teeth thinking about ado,
Bruises of blue they carry, bleeding of heart
A cold sweat trickling down the spine, apart.
Take away the face oh please
leave life alone, let all be in peace
Pain and heartache that created, O' bemoan
Saying and caring, oh no just want to be left alone ...
For the uninitiated, lonely hearts
Lending tears of sorrow, leaving soul debased
Romance here, a wild goose chase
Holds so many as the Falcons swoop again ...
Debbie Brooks 2014
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
would be easy to bemoan blue Monday
but for me the downer is usually Sunday
for I am incapable of not peering ahead
drearily anticipating Monday’s dread
and knowing the day we name for the moon
will be here eye-blinkingly soon
perhaps since earth took seven days to create
Monday will arrive ignorantly intestate
left for all of us to build upon perfection
ripe for us to engage in insurrection
with the simple picking of fruit from a tree
and the loss of blind bliss for all of thee (and me)
so Sunday marks the end of a white beginning
and Monday is only the first black inning
of a game where we all run from base to base
but always return to the same selfish place
Sunday before blasphemous blue Monday
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 12:10 PM UTC
Tapping at the hotel door
I see the man I've seen before
Getting close but wanting more
I'm on a mission
Risking all believing lore
No indecision
A life of longing and desire
No one else doth I require
Only you can burn the pyre
That's been created
Electric skin and hearts afire
Love's not abated
In the times that we hath known
A closeness never overgrown
Leaving nothing to bemoan
Halves of just one heart
Time has passed and years have flown
Stopping love's impart
Ignoring empty souls and then
Enshrouding love behind a friend
Realizing there is no end
To this addiction
Living on what life portends
Love's interdiction
Yearning what life separates
Too old now for long debates
Tired of always fighting fates
It's now or never
Giving in to what awaits
In this endeavor
So, here we are in darkest night
Hearts grow wings and take to flight
Bodies aching at the sight
Of one another
Side by side love makes it right
There is no other
Here we stand in open door
Feeling what we've felt before
One step closer to amor
No inhibitions
Embracing what we're longing for
In Love's admission
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 1:56 PM UTC
My missionary work, to an extent,
has been accomplished under grace;
most of the poetry I’ve composed
has been shared with the World,
with the intent of drawing others
towards The Kingdom and the face
of Christ, beloved Lord and Savior.
Pushed far out of my comfort zone,
I’ve taken this notion of identity,
that’s found solely in my Christ,
and pushed bravely forward with it-
at the dismay of brethren who bemoan
the label of Christian poet and author.
I can’t and won’t apologize for actions
taken to glorify God through evangelism;
Christ is the living Word; His Truth
courses through my spirit, as I explore
my Faith and understanding of Salvation.
.
.
.
Author notes
Inspired by:
1 Thes 5:19 and
"A life fully lived out for Jesus is never a wasted life, because in it the true reward starts only the moment one dies, and from that time on wards the dividend for the earthly investment they made continues to comes back without limit for the eternity that is ahead of them." —Abraham Israel
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 9:03 PM UTC
IN FLANDERS FIELDS THE POPPIES BLOW*
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Here my comrades and I are laden
We fought for King and Country
Here we are---the fallen.
‘Be proud’, was the national proclamation
‘ You are the chosen’
We left home and our loved ones
Here we are—the ill-begotten.
Some of us once upon glorious corridors
Of Cambridge and Oxford had trodden
The best and most fertile of young minds
Here we are—the forgotten.
How strong we then were, riding on the back of youth
Its dreams so sweet and resplendent
Rained by bullets in the battlefield
Here we are---death has spoken.
Pro patria gloria, dulcis pro patria mori
(Never mind if our hearts were cruel and rotten
We must **** all enemies over the fence)
Here we are---the terrible who were chosen.
Were we born to destroy and mutilate?
But in the battle-front ---all we loved and espoused had been stolen
Buried in dark pits of hate and revenge
There we were----inhuman and despondent.
Those whom we slaughtered and maimed
Didn’t they like us once did hold dreams just as golden?
Weren’t they who happiness sought as we did?
Here we are—to bemoan all the precious from such that had been stolen.
In Flanders fields the poppies weep
For us who are far from home and have nowhere to return
With the wind’s nightly melancholic sighs whispering in our ears
Here we are----empty, with dark sins upon us—for absolution is all we yearn.
• inspired by the opening line of John McCrae’s poem IN FLANDERS FIELDS published in December 1915 (Flanders is in Belgium where a million died or were maimed).
John McCrae (1872—1918) was a Canadian doctor who joined the army as a gunner but later transferred to the medical service.
IN 1918 he was made consultant to all the British armies in France
but died of pneumonia before taking up the appointment.
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 6:56 AM UTC
" Mind" ... a Burden
Do they have brains God!
these scurrying,hurrying,busy little ants?
So fixed in intend, so large their burden
Overcoming all; and to what end?
Do they even know Dear God!
That life is short and so uncertain?
A heavy boot, a gust of wind
And for them, its the curtain.
Do they not think Sweet Lord!
To put down their load awhile?
to savour or bemoan their lot in life,
why carry on regardless, for the good of their kind.
Why do We have brains My Lord?
when it would have served mankind
Just as well as these tiny ants
To work ,live and perish without a thought.
Indu *****
30th May 2011..... Goa
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 9:41 PM UTC
we all remember
where we were
watching the towers
burn and fall
knowing that things would
never be the same at all
disbelief at first, or
had an action movie
slipped into the news
no, it was real
and then twenty years
of vengeful repercussion
of military posturing
of suffering for many
we watched
the baddies being painted
good and evil
being redefined
virtue confused
impotence and power
conflated
lies and spin
consecrated
truth
alternated
idiot rich guys
promoted
tax for the poor
promulgated
democracy
desecrated
climate destruction
accelerated
by denialist
complacency
inequality
more concentrated
goodness and morality
infiltrated
by posturing political
pus weasels
venal vultures
of self interest
grasping for
short term dominance
and then ..
complacency pervaded
as absurdity
was accepted
as our new state of normal
and the height
of compassion
was owning a dog
and tut tutting
as refugees marched
across our news screens
and now we
bemoan being isolated
from being contaminated
we are mostly relegated
to stay in our mansions
while dinner is contemplated
have you been vaccinated?
Sep 11, 2021
Sep 11, 2021 at 4:32 AM UTC
If this vast azure emptiness can prove
An aghast endless vacuum measure
Take it for granted, research process sure
It will fuel your thought resources, true.
Mining specks and dots in deep space treasures
Boundless designs shine assigning pleasures
Unfurl within mind in gaseous beams
Overflowing the banks of conscious streams
Filling the utmost sanctum with soft skills
Milling vacuum with colorful quills
Calming the pulses with embracing lulls
Warming all lives with fundamental pulls
Creating a sense of duo, I and you
Love and dislikes and points of view.
Feeling satiety in charity
Finding synergy in activity.
Minting amity in society
keeps you young aged muddling in daring dreams
Deeply engage you cuddling realms supreme.
So what? if this vast thought mine be blanked out
Will the ghost mute vacuum follow suit?
If sense aides guide a slow downward exit
And mind bids the fairy lids to close it
Will the sun bewail, bemoan and eclipse?
Or will the same smile prevail on red-lips?
If souls sunset in seamless sea of mind
Will lights spill out; team up to stay behind?
To form anew a fresh long microwave
To indent a start with a soul suave
A new spectrum to perceive the forces
For the soul that constantly resources
That differently formats transceiver courses
The energy that cannot be destroyed
But that which can be candidly portrayed
On a vast emptiness fluidly stolid
On a continuum vividly solid
On a clean canvas without dimensions
In a brave new world that cannot mention
A name which is beyond comprehension
A frame that doesn't fall on known convention.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 2:30 PM UTC
Why bemoan love’s loss?
To whose lot it may fall
Treat it akin to candy floss
One deprived may stand tall
When there’s no receipt
No dues are ever owed
Who never knew deceit
To him Gods have bow’d
What if sentiment
Is unrequited?
‘Tisn’t ornament
Cast off, de-spited
Loss of love is never an issue
Shun it, or plunge in anew!
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 2:12 PM UTC
Flits of crepuscular longing across the simoom in the night. For with samiel at the helm, all hell will take us for sloth. Firstly, a schism overtakes the wind, backsliding the doorstep of Lucifer’s kin. Keep an eye on the door’s of ewes. The child angered by sky will surely lust for the hedonists imbue. Then the rattle shakes, pelting trunks of lye, chafing the goons of the dawn and choking from the ***** in our young. Aristotle bakes yore, and relief takes the pen, until the quietness of the impala becomes transfixed by our brethren. Then sores take the skin by trial. Eagerly rushing towards the venomous trails, and only then does the bandit bemoan the pain. Only then will the hungered and hungry peel back their fingers for fare, there where the flocks lay in wait and in pairs. Here where the melancholy of revenge, fills our quivers with children’s tears. Only then do we make haste for the shade, otherwise the sun will cook our hides to the colors of the day, then we will lay quiet too. Maybe then we’ll be overtaken by the Xombie Moon.
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
We have bulldozed the Garden of Eden;
we are nothing more than a parasite with an unending appetite
for destruction in the name of civilization.
Our monstrous monumental achievements can be viewed from space;
we are the cataclysmic legion, the unbeaten ****** the demon of freedom
with the desire to demolish and impoverish the last bastion arboretum.
We are mad and frenzied in our passion;
we are the phantasm assassin choking the very lungs we use to breathe
the misanthrope who carves materialistic thrones to sit on and wait for exalted death while we replant trees in self-centered glorification of hope.
We are doomed and we know it, but we still don't care;
we question science and bemoan nature for wreaking havoc, stare into the microscope looking for answers in the reverent appliance of defiance waiting to find the sparks to eternal life there.
We are the envy, the mistrust, the sadist and the snake;
we squabble over the scraps of apple peel and douse ourselves in ice cubes
whilst far away some African child walks 50 miles for a sip of clean water
we are the plague of mistakes broadcasting hurricanes to entertain.
We have bulldozed The Garden of Eden
now only the snake remains and there is no escape
freely offering the apple peel to those who obligingly accept
our epitaph will read:
humanity stepped back
to be overshadowed by an ape.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
Ive watched you weap
Bemoan in subtlety, without reason
Attempt to give light on an obsidian subject
Ive seen you bicker and cross swords
A struggle felt for miles
Have our confrontations meant nothing to you
Does venom foreshadow death
Ive seen you pass away
Day by day, its all the same
But am I the mad one?
Questioned by clans
When all I see is taunt discourse as if we're docking on long suppressed dreams
If it had been somewhere else, we'd hide a fixed eye to the occasion
Load the cartridge
Pull the trigger
Ignite cannons
**** the innocence
Have we lost our minds
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC
*I can't stand missing you anymore.
You are all I've longed for yet you
have gone away, away, so far gone.
I don't think you understood how
much your love meant to my heart.
I have tried to move on without you
yet life lost its luster and it's volume.
So I bemoan your absence in another poem
that doesn't scratch the beginning of my pain.*
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 12:07 AM UTC
The young poetess^ writes:
*Sitting on the edge of brilliance,
that cuts my youthful pride to shreds,
are the verbal shards of bards,
poets, beyond my experience.
Expelling their lifeblood,
I can, but only,
place my hands upon
their open wounds
murmuring hopeful platitudes,
praying that their blood spilled,
is not their excellence drained,
their wisdom wasted and stained!*
The old hoary replies:
Wishful thirsty drinkers
from the cups of youth are we.
We 'presumed' ancient bards
have lived to regret the
burden of our accumulations,
the weightiness of our pages,
owning insights, steeped,
fermented, wine-to-vinegar,
spoiled by age, time-wasted.
Our words, product of visions
grown dim and simp,
under no duress,
we-eager confess!
Better poets were we,
when possessed of
blood hotter, skin smoother,
brow clearer, innocent of fear!
Your eager cuts run
zesty red and freely,
Ours, clotted ones,
anemic, yellowed from
the curse of the boundaries
of too much experience,
purchased pricey rules,
murderers of our uninhibited courage.
You cogitate with
passions unlined, unruled.
We shuffle, bemoan
our drizzling days,
waiting for relief,
and yet, rue
our inevitable conclusion.
We curse our fate, our slow dissolution.
You bless the opportunistic rising sun,
enervated by energies unbounded,
You animate for answers, solutions!
We sit caned and quiet, acidic,
damning Solomon and his caustic words -
There is nothing new under the sun.
Perhaps we know a word or two more than you.
Gladly we'd trade that for youthful hands
that pray, point and scribe, with the eagerness
that sets words upon paper of spirits enflamed!
Time, our master, has shred our writs to pieces,
yet, you young poetess, greet the morn, confident, saying
today I will give birth to the first of many, masterpieces.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 8:55 PM UTC
When morning wears crown,
with white light of early dawn
When the sun goes down,
and day removes its gown
When night shows frown,
and stars brighten up their town
i feel alone
i feel alone
When quaking eve arrives, i bemoan
there in no one of my own
When tantalizing spring,
glamorizes the lawn
Ah! all the desires, now have flown
None to reckon upon
like a bird, being tied to pinion
i feel alone
i feel alone
'In fall season,
when storms rigadoon
to me, no shelter is known
not any shoulder to rest on
When cuckoo sings,
in summer's morn
Indeed! I am hapless and forlorn
Life always glares with scorn'
I feel alone
I feel alone
alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alonealone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone alone
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
My map seemed bigger when I was young.
Among many things from my youth.
How often did I hung from your tongue?
Believing words to be gospel truth.
I was, as you say, uncouth in sooth.
My map seems smaller now.
The edges closing in on me now.
Black lines crisscrossing me now.
Don't know what to do now.
My map is gone.
And I'm to afraid to move.
I could step on a percussion cap,
gain a concussion or worse.
The unknown is overgrown with death caps
beneath my feet.
My map is gone and I do bemoan it.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC