A Lament
By Revolting Theatre
I'm 30 now.
Still staring at the monotone landscape.
The same birds chizzle the silence,
Sculpting the miserable minutes into hours of waste.
The trees are taller, but just as boring. Lame from the weight of their
own branches.
If they could walk it would be with a limp.
Those who would walk beside me have found their own roads.
Children or Careers.
I can't find fault in them (though I will after a drink.)
Still, I am the poet.
Not halfway through my verse and running off the audience.
An entire way of being,
Eroding under the constant waves of .... well, of nothingness.
And every waking moment is covered with this smog-brown film.
And every day ends with an empty cup that was meant for all the meaning.
It's not that I want to die.
I just wish I could've died young.
Comments on "A Lament"
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On Tuesday, October 14, 2014, Pride Ed
(108) wrote:
Haunting and real. Simply a beauty!
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On Monday, August 18, 2014, Liz
(267) wrote:
Welcome back
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On Wednesday, July 23, 2014, Magdalena
(616) wrote:
The visuals in your words are wonderful. The last line tragic. If someone stood in front of me and said that, I would kick them in the shin :) Nonetheless great work Sir.