Another short bus-stop poem, written partly due to computer troubles and my inability to deal with them. My response to loss of internet generally lies between 'read books, write poetry', and 'set fire to everything while swearing at the omnissiah.'
I'm not a very patient person.
The trappings of man's design
leave me with an addiction,
a burning need to flee,
to leave this world behind,
adrift in a self made fiction
as my mind, unchained, feels free.
I lay w'in the darkness, trying in vain to sleep as tiredness makes me weep, and aches upon me press. Early to work, late to rise, toiling away noon to night, all thoughts by morning, crosswise. Perhaps this time I'll stay awake and bask...
Forward through time, backwards through space, round and round, still I have no place. Moving, stopping, seeking a thrill, or some kind of message that isn't a bill. All of these people to me have no face, as they all go 'bout the great...
Dormant branches reach up like fingers to a cloudless sky, where not even the bravest of crows fly, and not a drop of summer's rain lingers. Still the wind breathes, stirring dead leaves. The sun shines down bright, warming only those...