Welcome to my day of life.
Some wine? I ever forgot, each day,
my strenght is not as it was.
Morning in the dust,
I miss the snow, how can
it be so dull and bleak?
You need to hear my words.
Did you know the rain,
even that old friend,
has changed, I dare not say:
'betrayed me', but a loss it is.
Would it was my only grief
in changing moods
of the midday's sun
I must feign to call it light.
If I knew not that my sun
is setting and shall not rise again,
I'd believe that the evening
is upon our wayward race.
And I confess in the face of night
awakening, that I wish
we'd walk away.
(to die in shadows
and worms' guts)
But for the hint of green
and blue - a smile of red
I'd gone myself long ago.
My curse bereft. I watched
and stumbled with my brethren.
Eyes gleaming waited, killed
and loved our strife.
So did I ever regret
or try to understand?
The madness, despair
and pleasure knew well
how to 'drown your sorrows'.
And I gladly ran away
from questions that
had haunted me for ever,
or since the day of death.
Their answers I knew too well,
for they denied me to have any.
So I revelled in the city's arms.
Drank from every river Lethe
and danced with every
fountain of youth, but they
are as real as dreams the world
sells to all blue-eyed children.
And I was bitter to find them dust,
but matters it now? Betrayal
- I could almost call it a friend,
but there is no betrayer
unless it is the whole world.
For who should be blamed
for our wrong expectations
-our sorry selves.
Should I call it a day:
Drink my wine and live the night.
One last time watch a star,
that though faint and far
will not rub off when the next
'zine or show appears.
Kisses to the wind,
at least she feels real.
And you, my friend,
that wine is not empty,
and pray it never will...
\\The title is quite self evident, albeit I do not know if this thing should be called a poem, and were not better off phrased as poetic prose or some such. As to the identity of the narrator, I am probably more at loss than the reader himself. So enjoy, although I doubt you ever get this far down. The lecture halls get scarier every day...
1 comment:
Careful, or I'll make use of my right to edit posts and delete that featured comment of yours, my friend!
It was the only "rambling" in the post. The poem, or poetic prose (which apply both), was not.
I did enjoy reading it - in a way. Similar to the way in which one enjoys a shocking, revealing documentation.
Very keen one! While most poems follow one certain leitgedanke, yours is build around so many witty thesises (?), it really beats me.
Just some questions & specific comments:
"and stumbled with my brethren."
- you don't really leave it to Mr. Reader to guess about there identity, do you? No-one could be so cold blooded.
"Kisses to the wind,
at least she feels real.
And you, my friend,
that wine is not empty,
and pray it never will..."
- Amen! These are my "favourite" lines of yours this far. In original context, that is.
"And I confess in the face of night
awakening, that I wish
we'd walk away.
(to die in shadows
and worms' guts)"
- several persons instantly come to mind, who would not have liked this. As in this blog censorship is limited, we can leave them as they are, I think, heheh. :D
As a general comment, I'd say, that the mostly black layout of our little blog has never before reflected the content the white marks on it are trying to convey.
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