All the clumsy insights that you spill
Whose frame of reference do you really wish to fill
Each blue stroke is so dismissive
It has changed the color in your eye
It seems the summer storm has chased you into
Dreaming
Once again you let the splendor waste away and die
Do not pull the weary heart towards autumn slumber
For that which wakens never gained from gold nor dwelled in number
You scoff and say, "His blood is crooked!"
Mistaking candor for the knife
So afraid to free what rightly lies within
You cling so tightly to the surface-life
Warming all those despondent insecureties
As fiends wallow in dejected din
Someday I hope you paint instead
What's right outside your window's aimless head
Perhaps you'll fall out and see
There's more than life's external reverie.
Comments
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Can you tell me a little more about this poem? Who are you so mad at? Why are they wasting their potential?
Loved the rhyming mixed with free verse. I thought this poem was a scolding to a wastful idiot who cant see that life is more than mere partying. Am I mistaken?. Rewarded 6
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Haha thanks for the comment.
You pretty much got the jist of it. It's kind of about me and kind of about another careless individual
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