A deep voice from a dark place
Creates further disorientation
Calling me back to a black mood
And a bleak time
When everything belonged to her
And nothing was mine.
A wind-brushed afternoon
Pushes me along the avenue
To settle in an empty bar,
Warm beer and isolation,
A fascination with desperation
Keeps me forever alone.
With my mind-altar smoking
With the incense of perpetual thought,
I pray for meteorites to destroy
The disturbing days left of my existence
And the fecal-stench of my decaying history.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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hmmm, I like what Lad has to say about the rhymes indicating you're still in control. That is something that has occurred to me with my own work.
I like aspects of this like the incense of perpetual thought. History may bring decay but you are still up for playing with words and the satisfaction of that despite that.
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wonderfully negative
which if your going to be you might as well go all the way. liked the lines of settling for warm beer and isolation. i think weve all been there but that doesnt make it feel any better.
dave -
All the poet has left is...
...his 'decaying history' - and the lines leading up to that "stench" move along cleanly and with strong images. I like this self-expression. It's honest and yet disciplined as a poem. Self-scolding such as this could have resulted in a whiny, over-the-top piece full of melodramatic woe-is-me. But your poem stays with the very real feelings of a guy longing for love, longing for a life that's his own, not someone else's.
Strong stuff. Good reading for me. I especially enjoyed the randomly placed rhymes; they added to my idea that this poet is still in control of his life, despite the terrors he describes.
Lad
And, welcome to the site!
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