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A Poem by Dante

The bar I set,
the mold I shape,
there is no place
now, no escape.
I went too high
and yelled too loud,
and rose too fast
just for the crowd.
But there's no use.
I spent too much,
wasted my time,
and lost my touch.
I'm going down
this hill so fast.
I didn't mean
that was my last.
Just trying to
recapture what
I used to have,
to find my strut.
I'm not sure what
this really means,
but this is a
new beginning.

It's partially my fault, I guess
for getting us into this mess.
I've never been good under the press,
and never liked such fast progress,
but now I'm simply faced with this.
Trying to get a shot (I'll miss)
and hoping for a chancannoying acts
or the fatal cracks
in our made-up shields,
and our fake force-fields.
We're all more vulnerable
than we like to admit,
even if lying gets us
into some dark, deep s**t.
So it's a disaster
coming one of these days,
and we could help each other
but we're rather be "okay."e (what bliss).
Set it up for that sweet kiss,
off the back end
and we'll begin
again.
Rewind.
Wasn't that what I said last time?
Promised that I'd have better rhyme.
Such a steep climb,
and I CAN'T.
Why should it be a crime
if you can't achieve what you did the first time?
It gets harder as you go, you know,
especially when you're hitting the road solo.
And every day you expect to grow,
or at least find something you didn't know.
Improve your craft, just take it slow,
but be fast enough that it clearly shows.
God damn my fingers are freezing off,
fighting the cough, just to bring you content.
More books, more poems, but they'll never be content.
Fighting against my slow computer,
these fat commuters on their way to hooters,
get a real life man, or get a real woman.
It's not attractive how you act, what you're brewing.
Most people want somebody with a sense
of right and wrong, weak and strong, or at least a privacy fence.
So keep your Facebook feelings to yourself, chap,
or you're about to find yourself slapped, chap.
Go home and get yourself a backslap
from whoever feeds you after your nap.

The way I feel
is too surreal.
I can't express,
or start to address,
the 
There's a catastrophe
and it's only miles away,
but instead of building walls
we'll be burning bridges.

© 2018 Dante



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Added on January 16, 2018
Last Updated on January 16, 2018

Author

Dante
Dante

Hanover, IN



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