"perhapse" poems
I stand here poised
Like a bored gazelle about to leap
Not in the Serengeti
But leaning against a bin
Near Frankfurt
It is a wrought iron bin
Of fine craftsmanship
But all I can smell is ****
The **** of a thousand dogs
Over one hundread years
Marking their patch
And having no thought
For this man
Who would have his senses offended
By their ammonia picket fence.
Perhapse I will move
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 10:58 AM UTC
Gravity is pulling way too hard these days.
Or is it the heavy blue of the sky that is weighing me down?
Perhapse it has always been this way.
Or perhaps it is due to my mere existence.
Life.
My life.
An endless depression. A suffering.
An extended metaphor describing this temporary earthly existence.
The promising highs and their corresponding lows like a beating heart.
But it all shall pass.
The sky will hang too low and gravity will pull too hard leaving me no choice but to crumble into death. The dust from which I came.
Death will find me, and relieve me from this suffering. This depression, this life.
Death;
An Eternal peace, my sweet escape.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC