02-13-2013, 03:34 AM
I've been writing a couple poems recently, and I realized they all could sort of fit together into one big poem. I just conjoined them, and I'd like to know what people think. It could be a little choppy where one poem starts, and another ends but I think it flows together decently well.
-----
Again, again, he’s done it again.
He’s gonna win her heart, and yet he’s still your friend.
I see them in the park, she smiles so prettily.
I close my eyes and see them in the dark,
it hurts so bitterly.
But how can I complain; it’s what she wants.
And how can I explain… she’s all I want.
Dormant dreams I’ve kept inside
explode with love I failed to hide,
so stubbornly with sheepish pride
I stumbled to depression.
A vast expanse of nothingness adorns my rear-view mirror.
I turn my head to a sinking sun,
it’s time again, the nights begun… so soon.
No mans mind is safe
nor can women’s hearts escape
the sullen silence of a lonely night.
A shrivelled shell of yesteryear
a drunken ghost, an empty beer.
Her haunting face that reappears
after the brutal violence of a punchless fight.
A lovers choice brought naught but doom,
your mother’s voice inside the gloom.
My stoned rejoice; the flowers bloom
like a summer joy that found its tomb
in the sullen silence of a lonely night.
Blood flows after battle cries
like pain grows after love has died.
I wallow in her smiling eyes,
after the brutal violence of a punchless fight.
I’m out of spirit, the bottle’s broken;
cracked and bloodied, with words unspoken.
Passion fades and drifts away
a brilliant red that slipped to grey,
as I became a sullen silent night.
Together tethered to existence
we act upon our soul‘s insistence
to dare and dream to find…? What exactly?
Fuck the morning;
I sigh as I step into the shower.
Soon to be discarded dreams tug at my sub-conscious.
Another broken plot-line is lost,
the wildness of a night’s rest washed away alongside it‘s sweat.
Destined to die,
we spend our days as slaves
so we can spend our nights upon the couch.
Our individual everything’s
are infinite and insignificant;
a blade of grass that looms large above an ant.
Fuck work,
I sigh once more.
The subway’s dim, flittering lights
set the scene for my inner city journey.
The golden age of capitalism was beat,
Kerouac’s dying dream floods the sinking streets.
While seven billion poets fill the air with words now spoken
for only the ten trillionth time.
This endless loop of mundane madness,
brings no love, no joy, or even sadness.
Churning numbers numbs my brain,
and at least a robot can’t feel pain
but blackness stirs inside an empty heart.
Fuck another lonely night,
I sigh again.
I sip my beer and smile,
finding comfort in nothing.
A witty sitcom shines in my peripherals,
fuck the morning, fuck work, and fuck the night;
my drunken laughter explodes.
This long campaign has no reward;
no fat pay cheque, or love restored.
Life’s mundane nature now a perfect fit,
for those of us content to quit.
The tired soldier smiles as the bullet hits.
-----
Again, again, he’s done it again.
He’s gonna win her heart, and yet he’s still your friend.
I see them in the park, she smiles so prettily.
I close my eyes and see them in the dark,
it hurts so bitterly.
But how can I complain; it’s what she wants.
And how can I explain… she’s all I want.
Dormant dreams I’ve kept inside
explode with love I failed to hide,
so stubbornly with sheepish pride
I stumbled to depression.
A vast expanse of nothingness adorns my rear-view mirror.
I turn my head to a sinking sun,
it’s time again, the nights begun… so soon.
No mans mind is safe
nor can women’s hearts escape
the sullen silence of a lonely night.
A shrivelled shell of yesteryear
a drunken ghost, an empty beer.
Her haunting face that reappears
after the brutal violence of a punchless fight.
A lovers choice brought naught but doom,
your mother’s voice inside the gloom.
My stoned rejoice; the flowers bloom
like a summer joy that found its tomb
in the sullen silence of a lonely night.
Blood flows after battle cries
like pain grows after love has died.
I wallow in her smiling eyes,
after the brutal violence of a punchless fight.
I’m out of spirit, the bottle’s broken;
cracked and bloodied, with words unspoken.
Passion fades and drifts away
a brilliant red that slipped to grey,
as I became a sullen silent night.
Together tethered to existence
we act upon our soul‘s insistence
to dare and dream to find…? What exactly?
Fuck the morning;
I sigh as I step into the shower.
Soon to be discarded dreams tug at my sub-conscious.
Another broken plot-line is lost,
the wildness of a night’s rest washed away alongside it‘s sweat.
Destined to die,
we spend our days as slaves
so we can spend our nights upon the couch.
Our individual everything’s
are infinite and insignificant;
a blade of grass that looms large above an ant.
Fuck work,
I sigh once more.
The subway’s dim, flittering lights
set the scene for my inner city journey.
The golden age of capitalism was beat,
Kerouac’s dying dream floods the sinking streets.
While seven billion poets fill the air with words now spoken
for only the ten trillionth time.
This endless loop of mundane madness,
brings no love, no joy, or even sadness.
Churning numbers numbs my brain,
and at least a robot can’t feel pain
but blackness stirs inside an empty heart.
Fuck another lonely night,
I sigh again.
I sip my beer and smile,
finding comfort in nothing.
A witty sitcom shines in my peripherals,
fuck the morning, fuck work, and fuck the night;
my drunken laughter explodes.
This long campaign has no reward;
no fat pay cheque, or love restored.
Life’s mundane nature now a perfect fit,
for those of us content to quit.
The tired soldier smiles as the bullet hits.