Random posts by random folks
Colon. Dash. Parenthesis.
Since when did such vocables
enter the conscious conversation?
I am guilty of these writings
but feel no strong emotion
toward it.
Call me desensitized. Call me a fool.
Call me when you open or close
the parenthesis
so that I know how to feel.
The saddest word
I ever heard
I heard of just today
that loving her
was to defer
more love to self some way.
How crude,
how worn,
how deep forlorn
that view of love so flawed!
How evident
of life that’s spent
in vanity’s own fraud.
If only you
could see right through
that lie you’re holding close
then you might see
despairingly
it’s not love that you’ve imposed . . .
here comes the sun
to hide from again
with tattered umbrellas
and lukewarm lemonade
in either hand,
and when the night
should happen to fall
then let us drink deeply
from the moon shine
that flows down
to us,
laughing
that at long last
we avoided that beaming star
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I almost named this poem “Vitamin D(umbass)” but figured the satire was already too on the nose. Anyway, here’s a similarly themed poem from Instagram:
Shake your heads in pity
at the poor, unfortunate,
but don’t you dare raise a finger.
Real work fights battles; screens win wars.
Don’t act like it’s about you . . .
or them . . .
or us . . .
it’s
about
me
and it’s all going to be okay
with one more click.
Just one more click.
Just one more click.
Just one more click.
Jst1mrclk.
Hey, I know it’s going to be okay.
And it’s only going
to be okay.
My life is one of pain
As I sit in my leather chair
Drinking Cristal,
Smoking Cuban Cigars,
I contemplate on the
Unfortunate state I’m in
Why must I toil in this mansion
By the sea? Why do
Everyday comforts no longer
Hold value anymore? I
Can only come to one truth,
That despite my gross income,
I am but oppressed. Why else
Would I feel so alone, so
Upset at everything around me?
My gold rings and silver watches
Are indeed a sign of bondage
To the horrible life I live,
So there’s no further evidence I
Need than to express my pain
In words only the particular people
Will understand, I am a man
Of the people after all?
Why just the other day,
I lost a penny at the stock
Market, forcing me to wait
On my fifth Lamborghini,
And there was one less
Strand of fur in my
Coat for next winter,
What a tragedy my life
Has become. But I know
The people will understand,
And all I will ask
Is for some charity
To help me through the
Struggle, because I
Am one of you, I
Am oppressed, I
Am full of edge and grit,
And you love me for it…
You will love me for it.
Inspiration comes from
the oddest places . . .
like an old compact disc
with scratches where
the last track is,
a song not even released
as a single;
a song of substance,
a song with subtext,
a seemingly silly serenade sang to shallow souls
that told them there’s
something genuine in the broken, messy simplicity
of life,
something that made
a young man
smile ear to ear
and still makes him grin.
.
.
I will look past you’re imperfections
But you got to look
past mine to
We could of been
much happier Continue reading “The Hardest Poem I Have Ever Had to Write”
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