"vegetative" poems
The mushroom
The unfolding
instant of creation (fertilisation)
not an instant separate from breakfast
It all flows down & out, flowing
but that instant:
not fire & fusion (fission) but a moment
of jellied ice, crystal, vegetative mating
merging in cool slime splendour
a crushing of steel & glass & ice
(instant in a bar; glasses clash, clink, collide)
far-out splendour
heat & fire are outwards signs of a
Small dry mating
~~~
event in a room
event in space
a circle
Magic rite
To call up the godhead
spirits, demons
The shaman calls:
“When radio dark night…”
We are eating each other.
~~~
The Voice of the Serpent
dry hiss of age & steam
& leaves of gold
old books in ruined
Temples
The pages break like ash
I will not disturb
I will not go
Come, he says softly
an old man appears &
moves in tired dance
amid the scattered dead
gently they stir
~~~
I received an Aztec wall
of vision
& dissolved my room in
sweet derision
Closed my eyes, prepared to go
A gentle wind inform’d me so
And bathed my skin in ether glow
~~~
Drugs are a bet w/ your mind
~~~
The cigarette burn’d
my fingertips
& dropp’d like a log
to the rug below
My eyes took a trip
to dig the chick
Crouch’d like a cat
at the next window
My ears assembled music
out of swarming streets
but my mind rebelled
at the idiot’s laughter
The rising frightful idiot laughter
Cheering an army of
vacuum cleaners
~~~
Mouth fills w/taste of copper.
Chinese paper. Foreign money. Old posters.
Gyro on a string, a table.
A coin spins. The faces.
There is an audience to our drama.
Magic shade mask.
Like the hero of a dream, he works for us,
in our behalf.
How close is this to a final cut?
I fall. Sweet blackness.
Strange world that waits & watches.
Ancient dread of non-existence.
If it’s no problem, why mention it.
Everything spoken means that,
it’s opposite, & everything else.
I’m alive. I’m dying.
~~~
1st wild thrush of fear
-A phone rings
There is a knock on the door.
It’s time to go.
No.
17.7k
My name is Ashly (yes spelled without
the E)
I was born without a windpipe and was 3 months premature.
I underwent surgery for a tracheostomy and died on the operating table.
I was revived.
I was hooked up to many machines and my parents were told I wouldn’t live for more then 3 days...
If I would survive more then 3 days I would be hooked up to machines my whole life and be in a “vegetative state”
Doctors told my parents and family “I would never live to see my 18th birthday.”
I lived in the hospital for almost 2 years.
At age 2, I myself, ripped out my tracheostomy (which could have killed me)
My family rushed me to children’s hospital and the doctors decided to let the hole in my neck close and see what happens.
My doctors don’t know how I made it through the night or days after.
I went home after a couple weeks and that’s when I started living my life as a “normal” child.
All of my sisters were involved in dance classes, my parents( doctors didn’t agree) enrolled me in to classes.
THATS WHERE MY LIFE CHANGED
Dance became my passion, along with gymnastics and musical theatre.
Something my family, doctors or even myself never thought I would EVER do.
On my 18th birthday it was a mixture of emotions.
I made a milestone that no one said I would ever see.
I competed in dance and gymnastics until I was 19 years of age as well as did over 60 musicals at my local theatre company.
I never thought I would ever have a boy love me because I had “too many problems” or even get married for that matter.
Fast forward, I am now almost 33 ( June .11th is my birthday)
Married for almost 8 years to my best friend.
Happy doesn’t even cover what I feel everyday waking up next to my love.
We may not have a “family” of our own but we are happy and in love over the moon with one another.
So why did I just ramble on with this?
Because I’m a MIRACLE and a SURVIVOR.
Even though I don’t remember much from my childhood and what I and my family had to endure, I have been fighter since my first breath.
I’M A SURVIVOR and I’VE MADE IT....
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 3:09 PM UTC
Instead of foraging around making connections
with cables and wireless systems that
bluetooth and sync their way
into our pocket technologies
and portable screens
(tablets of which we self-prescribe
and regulate through overdose
and comatose keenings of stillness
and waking dreams)
why, instead
don’t we fool around
making connections
with others of like mind and brainwaves
instead of radiowaves and
the mastered minds of computer waves
and lift an arm and
really wave
beyond our windows to
real people
in real time
rather than peeping
like a holographic Tom through
tabs and browsing windows,
multi-tasking time in a state of mime
like it’s about to expire
(like the wireless wires will break)
and all that we’ll have is
all we can physically take
from this moment awake we call ‘life’
– a mistake.
What else is left now
in this vegetative
one man one woman state
where we live to close our eyes
and shut our minds and wait for
the modem-router to re-dial and
get our avatar back online and
our friends back into our
multi-dimensional realer-than-time
time?
Pseudonyms solving identity changes
emerge without birth
with designer non-faces, as
now that we no longer need imperfection
or meaning or privacy
or even perception
we alter ourselves to impress our connections
with whom we connect without really connecting
by hiding as one almost nearing detection
and tip-toeing straight past
concern or reflection
(invisible firewalls at our protection)
our own walls around us
with keys we can capslock,
screening ourselves from unfriended friends,
and playfully sated by charm and ‘pretends’
that will mean next to nothing
when fantasy ends.
Where ARE the connections we make
in this digital age
that we rarely turn off since
the internet craze has become a new God
that we dial to be saved
as we sacrifice friends we once made
face to face
with those we are longing to meet
as we race across networks
with hunger and haste and
with spambots and data and viruses made
to detect and infect
and reject, just for starters,
and that’s not to mention
the ads and the logins and
passwords that lock us
from somewhere far yonder
that doesn’t exist
as we grow ever fonder
of pics and of pixels and
texts of expression
– the reality of which
we could lose in a second.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
cold veins
beat red fists
through cracked walls
of hearts home
fingers caress and
shudder my skin
he whispers nails
on chalkboard
don't touch me.
bottles bottom
dissolving
coin tosses in
your stomach
she bore
my vegetative
eyes once
living
don't call me.
aggressive he
she depressive
bi polarize me
the perfect gender.
-r0
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 2:36 AM UTC
*The sighs are the silent laments of the heart
As the heart is being crushed in a clenched fist
Slowly squeezing out all the love it can hold
Constricting the flow of life through the veins
Slowly, the mind goes into a partial coma
As the numbness spreads all over the body
Bereft of all the reflexes, to react and fight back
In a vegetative state, the slacking body lies there
With only outside support to keep you alive
But you are controlled by the sinister supports
Barely surviving, and on the brink of death
Slowly the laments of the heart die, with a sigh*
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 11:35 PM UTC
"For the moment, she soaks up all that she can."
Fragile, unaligned, bristling flesh.
Thoughts that stutter and repeat, breaking upon release
Fully human. Organic. Vegetative.
I touch grass and uncut daffodils,
And feel no fear at expression. No fear of wrong turns.
Merely a desire to grow towards the sun -
A sun gaining warmth with each day.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 9:11 AM UTC
Finally a body lay restless fighting against all the odds.
Lying immobile in a bed of thorns and pains for four decades so long.
Where she should have been
And where did she reached today.
Once she was blessed with beauty and intelligence.
Blessed with a beautiful life to live upon.
Could she live that beautiful life, as it should have been?
Helplessly she watched,
when cruelty gripped her from all the sides,
which never gave even a chance to rise up,
Even though a new day began.
How many dreams she may have had?
She fought the pain till she breathed her last.
She lay motionless in a bed of shattered dreams,
With a pillow of bed ridden thoughts and tears.
Lying in a bed around decades of four
Hardly she may be two and half decades born
For years she lay crippled and helpless
fully dependent on others.
Indeed some blessings was there with her
Thankful to the people who stood for her, who loved her,
Took great care of her and travelled along with her till her end.
A fateful day took away all her dreams and twisted her life so cruelly.
From there her life hanged in between if and not, till she breathed her last.
Tears do we shed but also feel relieved,
Finally a soul was freed from all the prolonged pains and grief.
Till the last moment she fought bravely against all her pains
before sinking eyes to death!
May Her Soul Rest In Peace!
Hats off to all the nurses who went on adding
Drops of priceless contribution each day
as a part of their dedication to humanity.
In what better they could have shown!
PEACE!
All rights reserved by Geetha Jayakumar.
Note: (Courtesy: Google)
Aruna Shanbaug an Indian nurse, then aged 24years, from Karnataka, died after living in vegetative state for more than 42 years. She worked as a nurse at the King Edward Memorial Hospital (KEM) Mumbai. At the time of attack she was engaged to a doctor at the same hospital. On night of 27th November 1973, Sohanlal Walmiki, a sweeper at the same hospital, sexually assaulted Shanbaug. He attacked her while she was changing clothes in hospital basement. He choked her with dog chain and sodomized her. She was discovered with blood splattered only at next morning. Since then she lay in a vegetative state. Nurses from KEM hospital took entire care of her till her death in the same hospital. She was born on 1st June 1948. Finally she died from pneumonia on 18th May 2015 at the age of 66.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
Broke as hell
Blue light eyes
Pity be pity see
Pushing till they pull
Color coded notes on fire
Scholar of all that is okayish
Handicapped lockjaw zombie
Swimmers in the styrian river of Dante’s Inferno
A stop sign growing in the middle of the street
Thousand yard letter grade stare
12 missed assignments
Experienced Naivete
Dementia in progress
Last year’s Amnesia
Crossing busy streets
Vegetative
Dec 8, 2021
Dec 8, 2021 at 4:00 AM UTC
Midnight void takes hold of all
They cannot move, they cannot fall
No time in here, no space to move
They’re drowning in nothing and there’s no-one to soothe
No stars, no colour, eyes open or closed
For them, is this the end of the road?
Static fills their mind like they can’t connect
Vegetative state like they’re just an object
Is this something? Is this nothing? Existence or lack thereof?
Somehow, somewhere, this might just be both
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
I hear the Siren's cry.
A bittersweet laughing ruse
full of a life fulfilled
just out of earshot.
Here I stand restrained.
A mute with perfect hearing,
A rigid, fettered meat husk.
Jutte Bristles feast upon the flesh of my wrists-
Vegetative vampiric cord.
It holds me to my main sail in a sea of
Violent storms.
My ship tosses and bucks, riding the bull of Poseidon
while phantoms of light dance on crests of oblivion.
My sailors, ears plugged with wax
Shift and sway on legs accustomed to rough waters.
I Alone, Hear the call and strain to act.
And what do these Goddesses of Lies offer,
(for deep down I know what they are)
these voices of fell winds wrapped in painful beauty.
Riches or Aires?
Sweet coupled love?
Secrets of the Green Mirror?
No, an end to loneliness.
Become one with the sweet horror and chaos.
Come dance over the waters with ****** abandon.
Feast on the tripe of torn souls.
I long to follow, but will not.
Rope against bone and sinew.
Blood pools at my ships rain-drenched trunk.
The song it calls, it calls…
Vile once-men, future minstrel demons,
Abominations that haunt my ghost ship.
Listen to your commander and allow me to follow
these kisses of spectral wanton lust.
Screams of anguish echo--
and then realization!
It is my own voice that parts
the waves of the storm soaked sea.
It is my own voice that
parts from the divine.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 8:54 PM UTC
i do not see them crumble as most
wilting below a burden of naturalized slavery
neither as a remorseless lament of hopelessness
or awkward betrayal by time
i cannot see them crucified by false hope
echoed and embedded in folklore
ardently imposed upon a claim of immortality
piously preached by mercenary saviors
i shall not surrender to ashes
before capricious flames in heart of a nation
smolder the vegetative apathy
of a sickened red fluid in its veins
i shall not be silenced
for i refuse to accept the malignant misinterpretation
of her as a **** and womb only
screaming its last sufferance
she is my mother
a living breathing soul
one heart parched by seasons of drought
melted in romance of a vagrant monsoon
lost in torrents of reminiscence
and lost in memory of a time
godliness wasn't branded on stars
faithfulness wasn't obligatory
devotion wasn't a farce
i long to see distances wail into heaven's ears
shrivel and wither away at the command of my brothers
be shattered to the dust of oblivion
forever dead and buried
i claim the world for what it is
a stunning sight of nature's wisdom
and love alike
i steer my passionate agony
into the inspiring fate of a land
where my guile would be echoed by
rhetorical lovers and leechers alike
and i shall not hold back.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 11:41 AM UTC
I'm again in a transition,
A non-medical scientist by my schooling,
A writer, singer-poet, and author by passion,
These days I'm at Gorakhpur to join a new job,
For another new opportunity that I grabbed,
One of the many exams I cracked,
This job is that of an Assistant Audit Officer.
I marvel at what life has shown me,
Educated at school in non-medical sciences,
Physics, Chemistry, Math, English & Physical Education.
Then I undertook the first paradigm career shift,
Started my Bachelor degree in Biotechnology
Met with the unfortunate cataclysmic road accident,
Survived the 23-day coma against all odds.
Oh the odds, do you remember, oh life?
200+ beats per minute heart rate in the coma,
104°F+ fever accompanied the ****** injuries,
Fractured cheekbone just below the left eye.
Brain stem injuries sent the global doctors in a Tizzy,
Nobody was certain about my survival or the recovery,
But I survived.
The second paradigm shift here was my survival.
They had said at the hospital,
"Only the most serious cases come to ICU #2,
And the lost cases come to HDU #7."
BUT I DIDN'T DIE.
I survived everything that you threw at me,
Everything, even negative people,
Who made weird recommendations.
What did they recommend to my parents after the accident?
— to make me join an easier degree course,
— to make me train for weaving baskets,
— to set up a toffee shop for me to earn bread,
— and what not to discourage my family,
— my parents had dreams for their only child,
— all the whilst I was in the uncertain coma,
— and the pitiable vegetative state for 30 more weeks,
— where I endured immense pains.
Oh life, you've been so hard!
You gave me COVID-SARS in 2012,
I didn't die,
I completed my B.Tech in Biotechnology.
More loneliness followed,
I still didn't give up on life,
Completed my M.Tech in Animal Biotechnology.
The third paradigm shift was next,
When I cleared 4 recruitment exams,
And joined as a Probationary Officer
With the State Bank of India.
The fourth paradigm shift now comes,
I have shifted to the job of an Assistant Audit Officer,
With the Comptroller & Auditor General of India.
I defeated death,
But I seem to be fighting a lost battle
Against loneliness in my life.
Mar 12, 2024
Mar 12, 2024 at 11:46 PM UTC
So much time is wasted.
How often are you lost in thought?
Trapped within a whirlwind of emotions, You can't stay grounded.
You're lost inside yourself.
Numb.
Numb to the world around you, to what's standing right before your own eyes.
A blank slate.
In a vegetative state.
A water balloon about to pop.
So much pressure building up from the inside out, these words won't stop.
Soon you will burst.
Stop your mind before your heart stops beating.
FOCUS.
Thump thump. Thump thump.
It starts off slow, so slow you begin to wonder if you still have a heart at all.
Perhaps your mind has just taken over and soon your lungs will give out.
Perhaps this is the end after all.
Is this how I go?
In a motionless state, just waiting for the next ***** to shut down...
You try to breathe.
It only hurts.
THUMP thump thump THUMP thump thump.
Now it won't stop.
THUMP thump thump THUMP thump thump.
The beat gets faster, the breathing harder. Tears begin to stream down from the eyes.
You feel as though your body is going to let go.
Fear is taking over.
You're giving up, ready to jump, just throw it all away...
You can't do this alone anymore. You have no desire to try.
You believe this is the only way out.
This tsunami, this hurricane, this eruption of emotions are consuming you.
Eating you alive.
--Silence--
Before you go, remember one thing. The most important words you will ever know...
You are loved, and
Love conquers all.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
writing for non-recognition
“It was exhilarating to get the chance to be useful, which is always an issue for a writer.”
Garrison Keillor
a hundred readings, so flattering,
the heart tickled, nicely fluttering,
then one day it is a thousand,
and the crushing soul flattening
has set a new higher,
a low base needs an achieving
in every thing
**** writing for recognition,
need a few thousand, ten will fill the bill,
now
to consider myself ok average,
which shhh,
I know I am
now have to choose each word
with great daring caring,
worthy of the great writer
whose devotees demand,
offer a simple choice, want want
pleasured ooh ah's of perfection or
face sacrifice
on the poetry altar
of the Feed Me Seymour plant of
being ignored to a
vegetative death
**** writing for recognition,
you want my I-curse,
steal my purse,
reach in, take my cigarette styx,
exhale a **** poem
**** writing for recognition,
please don't read my hand crafted,
diamond cutter designed,
succulent crap
go away, don't like me, and for god's sake
don't dare love me,
that's a killer,
then my busted ballon ego can't be taped
back together again by Humpty Dumpty's men
after this will never revisit the prior past,
that will not - shall not exist
one anonymous poet
spilling with unfazed unglued fluency
disregarding what pleases,
writing spilling that which surged
that electrify
my soul
and then never
to them return
**** writing for recognition,
no more subbing
no more sinning
no more using
just me using me
up
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 8:21 AM UTC
Arise! Arise you hopeful young tadpoles.
Come forth ye mighty messengers of joy.
To arms my children... To Arms!
This be no game. Don't let it fool you..
Can't you see our trickster ? I know I can.
He's always smiling, eagerly baring his teeth,
flashing them for our prying, unsavoring eyes.
And we, we my friends, are staring dully onward
Blind to his sarcasm, blinded by our own vision.
Oh you young hopefuls.
Why do you trouble us with such ancient questions ?
Why are you not of the learned ?
All you were destined to do was shine and light up the night's sky..
Like earthly Orion's celestial belt.
Why must you burrow now ?
Arise you tender hatch-lings... break your eggs.
Can't you see how fragile your shell shields actually are ?
I know I can.
To arms my children! join me in oblivion.
The fray is but a ruse.
Fear is a coward's excuse.
Be swift of hand and light of heart.
Your minds are but sandboxes.
Were they not once empty ?
Before mighty Morphius visited our backyards;
they were all empty, barren and oh so hopeful.
Oh you mighty brother of Delight... It was your cruelty that dragged her down.
Down into delirium.
where she now giggles, cries, screams and gasps in symposium.
you broke her, although she may have been broken earlier.
Arise you miserable tadpoles. The land is warm and welcoming.
Its soil, sands and snow all ache for your budding legs.
Say No to vegetative awareness.
Say No to boredom's persistence.
Come forth you mighty messengers of joy.
Slip on your armor, this is going to be a rough ride.
Our home awaits.
And now allow me to light your bottoms on fire.
And launch you into space.
I won't stand for no crier.
And when you face your brothers; those ugly friars.
Those frogs.
These acclaimed humans, your so called kin and countrymen;
Do not hide your hatred; bury not your malice, but your sympathy.
So when you see their beady empty eyes and power hungry lashes and whip like tongues;
don't fret and don't seek to befriend them.
For their sweat is poison and they reek of cyanide.
Don't seek safety by joining them.
Arise my children and step into my light.
The cakes are all warm and today's sun is still bright.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 3:51 AM UTC
An expanded meaning,
referring variously to literal bodies and to
the vegetative nervous system which controls vital functions.
She has been made a constellation
and is destined to outlast the contestants.
The germs develop first in seven segments,
some people may actually fall from their beds.
When I was casting
in these works the term took on
suggestion of how one might view the work,
gestures but also the placement and movement.
It might have been a drag queen –
Some well-formed whole constructed from
something in you that is no longer functioning.
When you dream about an accidental death
of any person,
that person’s death symbolizes Macrophobia.
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 1:39 PM UTC
My plant is dying.
Her long chlorophyll-filled leaves
drooping, sagging, lacking.
The sun barely shines on her anymore
as the shadows claim her
in the corner of my windowsill.
The only window in my tiny room
and it receives the least amount of light
due to the angles of the sun—
an inhibitor of her vegetative maturation.
As it is there’s hardly any daylight
left to give.
Winter is drawing near, and I should
learn to close my window
so the cold can't creep in—
but I open it anyway,
afraid to let go of any residual summer
that might still litter the increasingly frigid air.
Where did the time go?
The cold doesn't agree with her,
despite being a succulent—supposedly hard to ****
so I trim the broken, withered limbs,
break them off so the plant can breathe again.
The now bare stem looks lonely.
So I water the dry dirt in hopes that
she’ll grow once more.
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 3:16 PM UTC
I’ve experienced seven hundred and seventy moulds
I died from minerality and become vegetable
And from vegetative-ness I died and become animal
I died from animality and became man
Then why fear disappearance through death?
For the next time I shall die
Bring forth wings and feathers like angels
After that soaring higher than angels
What you cannot imagine I shall be that.
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 12:03 PM UTC
One tree composes the entire sassafras grove
Vegetative manifest destiny propels its growth
Even as the green leaves turn black
I searched for that sinful seed
That began this unchecked growth
Of endless reproducing replicates
Fatigue, distrust, remorse
Anticipation, heartache, shame
Every emotion I encountered
Claimed to be a person with that power
Yet feelings are false and can be fallen
The bark I’ve scratched, the leaves I’ve torn
Some I’ve even overcome
Still the forest only thickened more
Then I fell myself
Now my ambition, once unjustified and diffuse
Sprouts with the vigor of sassafras
Reclaiming land thought lost with a green
And very visible hand that holds onto mine
The forest continues to densen
Sweet sinful confusion still conceals the heart
Beating the path has only become harder
But in your eyes I see my pain
Irrelevant as the means to the end
We will find the root
And steep its very core
We will drink it
And we will see more
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 8:28 AM UTC
Two by two, to Timbuktu, watching the preamble to his vegetative state
Rope-a-dope, a cautious slope, setting to fire from the gate
Flame surged, feet merged…swept up in a seamless blur
Awareness urged, the white flag’s purged…hallmark in corner paid slur.
Back fed, delusions said, motivation slow to percolate
Quick feed, slow bleed, letting the skin marinate
Light stab, swift jab, birthed through motion
Re-run, high spun, bringing about commotion
Objectivized meat, rinse-repeat, turn a hook to roll the page
Ref stalls, opponent falls, strobe lights flood the stage
Roll to ten, count and spend, nothing goes unchanged
Two to one, sign and done, it’s all prearranged
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC
The shadows in my brain
That dance with all the pain
Only adding to the strain
The memories that they hold
That they crease and mold
Only leave me cold
The agony holds on strong
That it refuses to move along
Only leaving tears of all that's gone wrong
The shadows in my mind
That are so unkind
Only showing me what they find
Thoughts rambling in an insane manner
Voices mix and clamber
Between it all the static stammer
Leaving me to believe I'm not well
I wear a mask so you can't tell
That I really live in Hell
There is something going on inside my cranium
Maybe it holds to much radium
That must be why I need a ******
My thoughts bumb and scatter
Oohhh something shiny.....does it matter
Uhm I think my head has grown flatter
Pain and agony brought on insanity
Trying hard to grasp the gravity
This situation leaves me in, oh the calamity
Well my gray matter has had enough
I'm calling my life's bluff
Put the gun to my head, it was tough
Blowing that gray matter away
Still won't be enough to sway
The demons will make me stay
In a vegetative way
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 2:00 PM UTC
Mr. Hopsons polished , placid pond surrounded by dark green July corn , teeming with mud and flathead catfish , dairy cattle call on clear blue , bucolic afternoons .. Black tadpoles crowd her tall vegetative shore , hoof prints riddle lonesome trails , killdeer chirp atop Elizabeth rose fence lines , paddocks come alive with abundant , fragrant wildflowers of every shape , color and size ..
Beagles cry for their midday meal , songbirds vivaciously work the white barn homestead , Rhode Island Reds gather for Noon feast , Embden Geese patrol East seeking the blacktop , waddle noisily along the gravel drive , forever curious , even a touch boisterous and foolhardy from time to time ..
Charolais bulls command the molasses lick , working salt blocks , lay
without fear beneath tin topped field shelters ..
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 1:24 PM UTC
Assume, just for a moment,
That yesterday wasn't really yesterday
You were in a vegetative state: you saw the light
just to be awoken, from your worst nightmare
The sky wasn’t blue, anymore it look gray:
The man in the white house was missing, off the radar
Leaving the people with nothing more than all his hopes
Then you remember, somewhere where you read
That the poet also resigns himself to his mood.
Perhaps, that why some verses should always end with an Amen,
I remembered sitting in my little chair in preschool
Waiting for the role called, j
just to hear her called my name correctly
But, my teacher never did, waverly, wabney,
Assume, just for a moment in time, I got up
And yelled it not warily, or Dabney it Demerara *** holes:
I always got a sick feeling, when they called my bestie name
And she wasn’t there, I always assumes the worse..
I was always an emotional state of sensing another‘s emotions.
At an early age I was that child who spoke with colors: I held on so tight, to my crayons box and silly putty that I made an image of my fist:
As an adult we hold on to grudges and bitterness
I too am guilty of that: when would it end.
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 7:31 PM UTC