deepundergroundpoetry.com
A little death
I don’t have time to write
I don’t have time to trap emotions
Stretch and pin them to blank paper
Like specimens
Here is what I felt today
Look and marvel
No
As much as I try
I can’t see what’s missing
I see the empty rows
where heavy words should squat
Instead I look at blankness and smell the acrid smoke of artificial things
Like bloody gaps felt by a probing tongue
Things used to live here
Feelings used to die here
Impaled by pen as if by sword
Now they never were
I don’t have time anymore
Not even enough to mourn
I don’t have time to trap emotions
Stretch and pin them to blank paper
Like specimens
Here is what I felt today
Look and marvel
No
As much as I try
I can’t see what’s missing
I see the empty rows
where heavy words should squat
Instead I look at blankness and smell the acrid smoke of artificial things
Like bloody gaps felt by a probing tongue
Things used to live here
Feelings used to die here
Impaled by pen as if by sword
Now they never were
I don’t have time anymore
Not even enough to mourn
Published 12th Jan 2018
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The author encourages honest critique.
I shall mourn for you, in situ:
A dystopian who mourns,
yet, denies he mourns,
himself
his time
his rhyme
his resign
to write
a page
of eulogy in poem
which
somewhat reflects
an inventory list
a philandering tryst
with words
spilled on a page
like blacklisted emotions
which still persist
to exist
despite
his blaze resist
to smash
the time clock
and leave them lie
in hushed reply
or simply die
where they belong...
among friends.
However, does a dystopian really consider himself to have friends?
He does, I believe, if...
he is a survivor.
Regards,
MsJames
A dystopian who mourns,
yet, denies he mourns,
himself
his time
his rhyme
his resign
to write
a page
of eulogy in poem
which
somewhat reflects
an inventory list
a philandering tryst
with words
spilled on a page
like blacklisted emotions
which still persist
to exist
despite
his blaze resist
to smash
the time clock
and leave them lie
in hushed reply
or simply die
where they belong...
among friends.
However, does a dystopian really consider himself to have friends?
He does, I believe, if...
he is a survivor.
Regards,
MsJames
13th Jan 2018 4:38am
Me too, Dys, me too.
Managed one, first time in two years. This poem is the 2 years - thanks for pinning it down.
Managed one, first time in two years. This poem is the 2 years - thanks for pinning it down.
