deepundergroundpoetry.com
In The Year 1985
of the names that are filled
in your book that are written
mine has been stilled
by the hand that has smitten
my hopes that had willed
a wondrous world so
in a coming utopia
the place in tomorrow
where we breathe euphoria
whose tears have no sorrow
but a meaningful vision
has been brushed away
and though i envision
what i live for each day
it’s a floundered delusion
on a bench you then lay
drunk with no whimper
the price you must pay
though really you’re sober
or am i this day?
Published 5th Jun 2020
Author's Note
When I was younger I often mused, pessimistically, about where I would be in ten year’s time. Fortuitously, I never ended up where this poem might take the reader.
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6th Jun 2020 00:04am
