This is a revised version of something i had a while back...



You are the unfortunate bastard who has to prove to me that
Those who know where they are going can be just as lost as me.
A tragedy in still life.
In a chair too comfy,
Your hands are frayed, bruised, and tired,
Your eyes even more so.
The dashboard's stickers are peeling,
The stained collar is curling ever so slightly to the right.
Your smile is cracked and freezing,
And the signs and answers are teasing and lurking behind.
In a hum of silent desolation
They laze, slouch, watch and wait,
One hand on the shoulder
As you sigh at the traffic lights, and
Groan in perfect sync with the
Clicking of your right hand knuckles.
Arthritis is the leading cause of disability in people over the age of 55.
I'd tell you, but you wouldn't listen.
Either the lenses in your glasses are
Censoring the poetry of life, or
Maybe beauty's just lost its novelty?
Such a tragic journey.

Too blind to see and
Too distracted to remember your
First glimpse of the world…
Where,
In faithful cycle,
Beneath the haze of the yellow, yolk sun…
The senses of the waking city frantically
Fizz, bop, linger and pounce
With the grace and flair of a perfectly rehearsed jazz band…
Where, as morning winces and yawns,
The streetlights are blinking
And the sun washes the sleep from it's eyes…
Where,
In meticulous detail, the
Pitches of
Laughter,
Screams and
Ecstasy
Whisper into ears in a wall of colour the
Possibilities and chances that lay above the
Sprawled, naked curves of the town…
And, though the canvas is worn,
New colours are born,
And the palette is stretching,
And, though the posters are tearing,
And the spray paint may be melting,
There's still a little bit of light.

Sometimes that's not enough.

I love this. I haven't had a chance to read much here, but you may be the best poet on RM. You don't know it, but your work is exceptional and inspiring.

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nice!

Seconded.