"tireder" poems - Hello Poetry

. Hello, my friend You've walked so long Though you have far to go; Take refuge here, Just sleep and rest: You look tireder than you show. Come in, my friend I've worn those shoes, And walked down many a road; If you come inside And sit awhile, You may leave with lesser a load.

0

Jul 4, 2014

Jul 4, 2014 at 12:29 PM UTC

ashley-somebody

Hello, My Friend

. Hello, my friend You've walked so long Though you have far to go; Take refuge here, Just sleep and rest: You look tireder than you show. Come in, my friend I've worn those shoes, And walked down many a road; If you come inside And sit awhile, You may leave with lesser a load.

13

I talked with my parents this morning (they’re in a time zone that’s 6 hours ahead). I’ll be off, back to school, before they get back. They sound very tired, certainly tireder than they did a month ago. They’re working with “Doctors Without Borders” somewhere in Poland. We have a fiction between us, that they haven’t been in a war zone for the last couple of months, spending 16 (18?) hours a day, in ineffable, meatball surgery - sewing pieces of people back together. Although our conversation topics are no more important than soap bubbles, they evoke a kaleidoscope of emotions (in me), our mutual deceptions as fragile as eggshells.

0

Aug 7, 2022

Aug 7, 2022 at 12:09 PM UTC

anaisvionet

meatballs

I talked with my parents this morning (they’re in a time zone that’s 6 hours ahead). I’ll be off, back to school, before they get back. They sound very tired, certainly tireder than they did a month ago. They’re working with “Doctors Without Borders” somewhere in Poland. We have a fiction between us, that they haven’t been in a war zone for the last couple of months, spending 16 (18?) hours a day, in ineffable, meatball surgery - sewing pieces of people back together. Although our conversation topics are no more important than soap bubbles, they evoke a kaleidoscope of emotions (in me), our mutual deceptions as fragile as eggshells.

3

They tossed the golden ring I never caught Whether or not it was my own fault Right here, right now is where I'm at As life gets set for another lap I can clearly see what's in front of me Being this close to the dead end street Miles ago I'd hoped for a cul-de-sac But imagine that, there ain't no turning back I'm tired of what these times have done to me Bent so long you knew I'd break eventually Which makes me even tireder still The bend and break of a man's beaten will At what point did I lose my belief That the grasp I had would help me to succeed Did I let go at the last bump in the road With so many potholes we may never know It's hard to see through the crack in the windshield These bitter days what is fake and what is real As the crack continues widening in its gap Until the day there won't be any protection left I'm tired of the same old grind from day to day And the optimistic crowd that says it'll be okay I'm tired of this as much as I'm tired of that Tired of the life that fits all of these facts You say I'm just feeling sorry for myself But if I didn't I wonder then who else Seems I'm stuck inside this all alone This house I've built that'll never be a home Which brings me back to the golden ring Where all I've ever been is a working machine Taking my fingers down to the bone Which makes any grasp that much harder to hold I'm tired of the ups that only let me down The promise of much that's never ever found Any fool can see where I'm clearly at And those that don't well I'm even tired of that When you stop to think, would death be better than life... Then you know you're tired

0

Sep 23, 2018

Sep 23, 2018 at 2:34 PM UTC

mike-hauser

I'm Tired

They tossed the golden ring I never caught Whether or not it was my own fault Right here, right now is where I'm at As life gets set for another lap I can clearly see what's in front of me Being this close to the dead end street Miles ago I'd hoped for a cul-de-sac But imagine that, there ain't no turning back I'm tired of what these times have done to me Bent so long you knew I'd break eventually Which makes me even tireder still The bend and break of a man's beaten will At what point did I lose my belief That the grasp I had would help me to succeed Did I let go at the last bump in the road With so many potholes we may never know It's hard to see through the crack in the windshield These bitter days what is fake and what is real As the crack continues widening in its gap Until the day there won't be any protection left I'm tired of the same old grind from day to day And the optimistic crowd that says it'll be okay I'm tired of this as much as I'm tired of that Tired of the life that fits all of these facts You say I'm just feeling sorry for myself But if I didn't I wonder then who else Seems I'm stuck inside this all alone This house I've built that'll never be a home Which brings me back to the golden ring Where all I've ever been is a working machine Taking my fingers down to the bone Which makes any grasp that much harder to hold I'm tired of the ups that only let me down The promise of much that's never ever found Any fool can see where I'm clearly at And those that don't well I'm even tired of that When you stop to think, would death be better than life... Then you know you're tired

37

nobody knows the troubles you've seen nobody knows them all, maybe some here/there, scattered pebbles, strung together in a too tight choker, as if two hands grasping your gasping neck, as if you needed a reminder of your own hands in slow mo, cutting off of the oxygen supply, to merest trickle, the insufficient be well hell no one knows the precision past, decision nature of thine owned Sisyphus boulder, the one you alone shoulder so you grin~grimace inside, when they sincere, but casually bell, un-beknowning, un-thinking wishing you one mo' time, an extra seasonal be well ~ ah, well intentioned, but you're getting older, tireder from the loader, each time it's tossed your way, falling to the pitted bowls bottom all these *be well wishes it's like a glass of water trying to fill a well mostly dry, quench a bonfire of exhaustion, that only grows stronger, feeding on its own inexhaustible supply of good wishes innocently poisoning I have two sons. I hope they be well*

0

Apr 7, 2017

Apr 7, 2017 at 7:53 PM UTC

left-foot

be well

nobody knows the troubles you've seen nobody knows them all, maybe some here/there, scattered pebbles, strung together in a too tight choker, as if two hands grasping your gasping neck, as if you needed a reminder of your own hands in slow mo, cutting off of the oxygen supply, to merest trickle, the insufficient be well hell no one knows the precision past, decision nature of thine owned Sisyphus boulder, the one you alone shoulder so you grin~grimace inside, when they sincere, but casually bell, un-beknowning, un-thinking wishing you one mo' time, an extra seasonal be well ~ ah, well intentioned, but you're getting older, tireder from the loader, each time it's tossed your way, falling to the pitted bowls bottom all these *be well wishes it's like a glass of water trying to fill a well mostly dry, quench a bonfire of exhaustion, that only grows stronger, feeding on its own inexhaustible supply of good wishes innocently poisoning I have two sons. I hope they be well*

40

He's wearing brothel creepers crepe soled, blue and sitting with discarded newspapers and early morning restless sleepers. tube trains for my pains are interesting places, happy? smiling? nah tired and worn out people hiding behind tireder and even more worn out faces going to or coming to the end of where they're going. she's got a shopping bag, a suitcase and she holds a half smoked *** in the fingers of a liver spotted hand a wedding band above the knuckle, it looks as old as her. I never got a seat but it gives me time to stand and maybe stare at oddities strewn here or sometimes where you least expect. Brothel creepers, not seen them since the sixties thought they'd died along with winkle pickers There's always a laugh when you look for one. I'm looking for the way out and that's a laugh too.

0

Sep 27, 2017

Sep 27, 2017 at 1:44 AM UTC

john-edward-smallshaw

Bobble hats

He's wearing brothel creepers crepe soled, blue and sitting with discarded newspapers and early morning restless sleepers. tube trains for my pains are interesting places, happy? smiling? nah tired and worn out people hiding behind tireder and even more worn out faces going to or coming to the end of where they're going. she's got a shopping bag, a suitcase and she holds a half smoked *** in the fingers of a liver spotted hand a wedding band above the knuckle, it looks as old as her. I never got a seat but it gives me time to stand and maybe stare at oddities strewn here or sometimes where you least expect. Brothel creepers, not seen them since the sixties thought they'd died along with winkle pickers There's always a laugh when you look for one. I'm looking for the way out and that's a laugh too.

29