It is too early to spin a poem.
Too early to know whether it is good or bad. Too early to care. It's here, I suppose, That I wish I were something more Than a poet. Something useful or brave. Something efficient perhaps, Or strong and powerful. Like one of those That stand at the helm of industry. Dear God - save me from that! But then at least, I could pretend that I was wanted. Then I would stand with my head erect And beguile myself into believing That I am respected For something more than What they use me for. Then, I would feign that my friends Were friends forever. And pretend that they loved me For something more than my success. We'd roam the golf courses Discussing things of no import. My home and office would be full Of well wishers And I'd spend my money On useless gifts Knowing all the while That they'd ruin them in the end. But we'd play the bluff. And have a great time of it While it lasted. One thing for sure, I would not sit at five thirty in the morning Wondering at the silence, Letting it move upon and around me Like dark natives Deciding the fate of their captive. I wouldn't spend my days Staring out upon an unseen world That looms like fairy goblins And fretting all the while Over those Who don't believe in such things. But I suppose That a man must be something. And in the absence of all that Which I might have made of myself, Had I been strong or efficient or useful, That I'd might as well say what can be said While it can be said, Be it good or bad. And content myself With the approval of the fairy folk. Would to God That they would let me Get to my breakfast!
1 Comment
Ashley
9/17/2019 04:05:15 pm
That was amazing! I loved it!!! It is so true! I have felt similar sentiments myself. Very well put! Bravo!
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