"wierded" poems
i look in the eyes of a significant other as i stare into the moon light i think of her
Her smile which is the only reason i go to that prison surprised that i caught her glare at me is it fate paying me back? or is it just a blank dead miserable stare
The eyes of fate and i have never seemed eye to eye we have always butted heads always picking up on the chosen ones the gods have picked for the non believers
Misery i have been brought pain i have felt hell my heart has bled more than a soldier in a war
but one very simple thought in my head what if it ruins it all what if she gets wierded out and abandons me like the rest because i hate saying this but the truth hurts others
Should i or should just leave this place and be a after thought in this hell of a life
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
a headline, a title, an instant self-commissioned
to live on, sponsored by these dying times,
a new poem, a different rabbit hole, a reflective surface
of in-between spaces, that separates letters, I am
that man, charter member, a voting citizen of the
The City That Never Sometimes Sleeps
the new traffic patters, i.e. no traffic at all,
messes up circadian rhythms, no trucks honking,
even the ambulances silenced, asking what’s the rush,
this year the cicadas, them too, took the seventh year off,
the strange silence wierded them out,
so they sheltered in place
our device, informs, it has been employed
20 hours 42 minutes of the last twenty four cycle,
don’t disagree, wonder only where the heck I was for
the 3 hours 18 minutes unaccounted
wasn’t sleeping, of that ‘rest’ assured,
must have been unconsciously
writing poetry, a voyage to **my
beloved holy dark,** where nightly
he reimagines when things were
normal and empty streets were
a refreshing sight, a welcome change,
not a harbinger of the visible separation
between the living and the dead
May 6, 2020
May 6, 2020 at 3:13 PM UTC