Untitled

This was just a stream of words that happened to come out. Meh.

Life is too real
for those of us living in the present.
Knowing there's little more,
we sit back and watch
and wait.
Our days slipping away without notice
until we're eighty-five,
Only to realize that we did have something
that has now been wasted.
Time wasn't the illusion it promised to be.
Buried with our past,
Never to be found.
It's meaningless.
We're meaningless.
The inevitable ruin of our world
crashes down around us
as we drink it up
like champagne from fluted glasses.

Reviews

[Virellius an Fiach]

I will go a step further then the guy before me. I thought it was good AND great, most likely because I feel those same things. Futility, looking back and regretting... it is terrible. Great work.

[Not Afraid of Bruises]

A very visual piece. I'm going to be brutal and honest here - it's good but it's not great. Great poetry says things in ways that no one has said them before. This piece comes close, but it still needs some work to really pop the feelings and images into people. Keep writing, and best of luck