Sunday, April 17, 2011
Like a bad wrapper, words spill out like lightning.
There is not much of substance to be found,
But an interesting stream of consciousness doth abound.
I never studied seriously those who went before.
A simple layman and a bore.
With words and such but I didn't believe her much.
Then a historian said, "Great historical sense!,"
To which I replied, hoarsely, "But I never get off the fence."
Lastly a philosopher said, "You're among the best,"
But I was shy and too self-aware;
I was fearful of the implications and
tossed it away as a jest.
That I'll never beat;
He saw more deeply,
Looked more lovingly,
Cared more intelligently,
Listened with an attentiveness
Not found today on our lonely streets.
Still, I'd like to find a way to somehow compete.
Perhaps invent a genre at which all will gasp.
Or show talent that is above reproach.
Nevertheless, imitation ain't so bad.
In that sun-drenched heaven,
I hope this faint effort
makes him glad.
To be useless
In the tupperware state.
Nothing to be done
The soft contours
Can lead one
Is at stake;
That the noblest
Emotion is hate.
Step back from the abyss
Which yawns so great;
Step into a void
That nullifies Fate.