"fribble" poems
I sleep in pitch black rooms and wait
for candles to light themselves
Thoughts the same shade of dark.
Counting sheep as they hop into slaughter houses of gluttonous, avaricious men who trade their humanity for pocket change.
While satans minions work with circumspectivness to reap what their slave-like bourgeois have sewn living with a motto of
Yesterday is history tomorrow is a mystery
In the Meantime fribble prodigal sons of the privileged ponder their inheritance
While the daughter of a currier burns her fathers letters because something's are best left unknown
and the candles remain unlit.
But beauteous animals still roam free in the wild,
little kids still smile.
There's hope in the heart of each child.
Sitting in seclusion and coming to Ambiguous conclusions is always productive
So When did the key to success become failure?
when wasn't it?
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
Fortune Cookies, Froth, and Fribble
Words always fail me but words are all I have
I used to think that I could write
Red marks and red checks cured me of that.
Disabused me of the notion that I had anything worth saying.
So, I'd write in secret, a prisoner of the gulag of conventional thought.
And when I was done, I'd reread what I wrote and smile.
Then I would destroy the evidence before the red marks appeared.
Stories, songs, poems, and plays.
A thousand characters born and died with only my witness.
Voices silenced when all they wanted was someone to hear.
So it went for years. My words wrapped and killed at birth.
Finally so desperate not to be silent I let the writing live.
Cursed birth name forgot, cast aside to write
As a name without fear, not hunted by red arrows.
Something caught your eye, something touched you.
You told me I wasn't horrible, that I didn't ****
Others said the same.
Writing candy clouds, fribble, and froth.
The deeper message hinted but never said
Just when I think I can, I read something forgotten from another
Their sunlight dissolves my candy clouds.
I pretend to write. I'm a fortune cookie. A formula.
But people like their fortune cookies.
Don't they?
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 1:40 AM UTC