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By leamas Submitted by leamas Date: 2002 Sep 12 Comment on this Work [[2002.09.12.22.47.28911]] |
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Hot candle wax Her eyes mirrored death for it was the only truth, I knew I would never see her again yet I did not care, As my mind melts like a candle and I fall into the mold, I act like a character in a Harlequin novel, fictitious of course. I speak of love lost and never found again, Of meetings on top of Police cars and Mace, About the things that really matter if you are made for TV, It's much easier to make-believe then to face the real "me". Wink-wink Of course this will not be read, for I'm not in the club, That is all right, I have to say, I use what I read as tools, It reminds me that life can easily be lost in clouds of deceit, Swallowed up by the fog of self-loathing, loss and insincerity. Doesn't anyone tire of the same reverberating thought, The same cloned nonsense that isn't real life, The quotes of movies and great works of the past, Of a local hero who magically projects vomit onto a page. However to show that I am a sport: I know that no soul could ever match mine the way hers did, Her piercing blue eyes haunt me to this day. Will I ever see her again? I cry into the night, Probably not, because you are in your room typing about her, refusing to accept that the problems in life are not solved by occasionally throwing ideas onto a page (gasp-run-on sentence). Good works are one thing, but jesus, ten in one day. Christ even ole' David, or even Whitman couldn't pump out that much work. And they did it for a living. In fact, shit one of them was supposed to be inspired by the big guy upstairs (right). Keep a journal, find yourself, and post an occasional piece to be shared, but don't share every little thing. What's next, your menu's? I have read some fabulous pieces but, holy sweet mother above, look out for the rest of them. Thank you for allowing me to vent...Not that anyone will read this. Did I put it in the correct stanza, how was the rhythm, iambic pentameter. What do ya think? |