The bone tired business of everyday smothers ideas to grey, strangles life into 8 hour bursts and leaves nothing but imagination - stolen wheeled in need of recharging, as the hammer slaps me under, living beneath the weight of clouds on brittle, broken earth - surfacing to excess / , still no-one to love, no answer in the sanded wood or painful knee, no promise of anything in the barbed wire bouquet of dreams, no thunder, lightning,, tormented wind, rain chilled memories cast aside until emptiness is new, the cobweb cell blown free, diamond polished mirrors, Reminding more and less, A walk through desert parks, hand in hand with who, a missed connection every week, diving into pools of lost hope, and return to sender, cold and wet, the restless sleep of ghosts call my name, sending horsemen to the moon, a twitch in time saves scratching, a sudden silent death saves asking, losing pieces but finding ground beneath my feet - the Cosmos awaits, the End.
A loveless existence in the never ending cycle of life. What a difference it makes when there is a love interest. What a different perspective that puts on our days. Turns existing into living. There is always hope. Poignant little write here gram.
Chris
Posted 4 Years Ago
4 Years Ago
Thanks Chris, glad you took the time to think, lol
The profound mundanity of life is manacled to the rotation of hands, pointed at false numbers of hope and the rotation of the earth. We live each minute, some of us, awaiting that thing that will come and make us whole. Indeed if love has broken like an old grandfather clock, the pendulum stilled the ticking a mere echo in time life can feel even more threadbare and torturous.
Great poem, John, you should upload this, lol, no, seriously, make it available for public consumpti.. read moreGreat poem, John, you should upload this, lol, no, seriously, make it available for public consumption
4 Years Ago
You wanna be my agent gram ole boy?
4 Years Ago
Only if I can f**k you side ways in the morn, soundtrack ; The Meat Puppets, Too high to die,
with no love, no real life outside of the 9 to 5 grind...we get lost in the routine of life...and love and happiness take a back seat...
and without love, even if we lose it...where is the inspiration to write?
j.
Posted 4 Years Ago
4 Years Ago
In the heart, j. I know that you know and you know it too.
Caged In An Animal's Mind
Caged in an animal's mind;
No wish to be more or else
Than I am; a smile and a grief
Of breath that thinks with its blood,
Yet straining despite; unsure
In my stir .. more..