Why can’t we write
When pressure comes close
When expectant faces peer
And hearts shudder in repose
Why can’t we write
As our fingers freeze
And we picture rejection
Agonizing on our knees
As we plead to the skies
Vivid pain on our lids
And we clack out more rubbish
All we are is what is
We are the earth
And the sky
And the water below
As it sloshes our ankles
And tightens the bow
And an arrow shoots through
Pierces freedom in its wake
And we sit and we weep
At the rubbish we make
Falling through rubber
Shattering skin
Melting our fingers
We are but men
We are but workers
Busy as bees
And soon we may realize
However you plead
That only our eyes
And only our noses
And only our lips
May shove out such proses
Such delicate buds that you kiss and you milk
We are the poets
We are the poets.
We are what is.
.me.
1 comment:
As USUAL, brilliance personified. You don't even THINK, and somehow you are so damn profound. You are effin' my hero. I wish I could write like you.
"And we sit and we weep
At the rubbish we make"
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