As a whale on the beach
I breathe
labored in the moment
ballooned with agony
wishing release
the cord cut
into the watchet firmament
to be but of distant memory
of conversation slurred
that guy
yeah
The view narrows
and dreams die
and hope becomes a word
one of many
and with a dollar
or two
will buy a cup
Something more?
What say you
Pray tell
Words, you say
perhaps a book
or two
Yeah, that guy
Tell me when he
gets here
I'm all ears
4 comments:
I like the cynicism and disillusionment in this. "hope becomes a word".
Been there/done that/never want to again...
Funny thing Annie, I didn't think I was being cynical or disillusioned when I wrote this. Even when I read your comment, I still thought, "No, this is as it is." Perhaps I'm so disillusioned and cynical, I can't see the proverbial forest for the trees. All I really know in the moment is the filter by which I am viewing life is so warped, nothing looks as it did and I feel as an alien dropped on earth, seeing and hearing everything for the first time.
Dejection, becoming more pointed with the inclusion of the title as they wrap around lines within, the sort of 'ease' that comes with knowing there is nothing doing, the point of no return or perhaps rather knowing there was never such a point to begin with, the course laid out by hands not your own, it has the sorrow of lost hopes, not because it is written clearly within, but in the persuasions that pervade each line within, not hopes that never came to be, but the kind that were within reach only to be taken, forcefully grabbed, caught unawares, like the whale, suddenly finding itself beached. No solution available, no comfort that can be offered, no advice that wants hearing, this is a place that needs quiet, to be stayed in, permitted, alone, time, space, the days come as they always do, and eventually renewed energy, just talking here of thoughts brought forth by reading, will come, but tomorrow may look like today, tomorrows for a while may look like today, and those need to be as accepted. Have been absolutely fascinated by the form of some of these recent poems, so much a part of what makes the poems themselves what they are, to put it in simplest terms, these are complete works, nothing is stationary or without connection, contribution. Wowed.
Sunshine, I just want to know who has my back because right now, I'm feeling rather naked and exposed.
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