Tired
I'm haunted by the question "What is love?"
I applied to Kroger for a job this week.
I had a really wimpy week.
So, in honor of me not telling you about my week, here is a poem
Paradise In My Hand
This house of dreams collapsing
Built on the soft sand of my heart
And all these smarmy voices
Of all these lying friends
Tearing me apart
Time is these dry bones drifting
On this empty sand
The gulls are calling mournfully above me
Recalling a home beyond this dying sea
Sitting in the quiet, pleading
Crying out for more then what I am
Straining past my dreaming
Looking for what is beyond the dark
Meaning deep inside me
Mixed with a frailty that saps my heart
Now through this smoking chaos
The thrust is made for life
Bleeding in gushes on the grass
Fighting for one more breath
This pain is swiftly rising
Asking softly who I am
A smile rests in front
Of clenched and grinding teeth
I'm reaching for the stars again
Now their in my hand
And all I knew was living
Is really mine at lasts
The empty moon said I could not make it
Hid my treasure with her glare
Vain words sound high and mighty,
But to the fighter goes the spoils
Through years of violence, tears and blood
My sweat is on the scales
The measure of my woes is filled
I have passed the test
Tonight speaks of laughter,
Saying too that tears are fine
But I am silent here at sunrise
There's more to life then happiness and sorrow
Eighty years wrapped in toil and fear
Though I am weak certainly
I am real in a land of virtual men
And held in the tears of my Maker
Is my life that cannot die
Well, that didn't come out as well as I had hoped, but there it is,
taTa
I applied to Kroger for a job this week.
I had a really wimpy week.
So, in honor of me not telling you about my week, here is a poem
Paradise In My Hand
This house of dreams collapsing
Built on the soft sand of my heart
And all these smarmy voices
Of all these lying friends
Tearing me apart
Time is these dry bones drifting
On this empty sand
The gulls are calling mournfully above me
Recalling a home beyond this dying sea
Sitting in the quiet, pleading
Crying out for more then what I am
Straining past my dreaming
Looking for what is beyond the dark
Meaning deep inside me
Mixed with a frailty that saps my heart
Now through this smoking chaos
The thrust is made for life
Bleeding in gushes on the grass
Fighting for one more breath
This pain is swiftly rising
Asking softly who I am
A smile rests in front
Of clenched and grinding teeth
I'm reaching for the stars again
Now their in my hand
And all I knew was living
Is really mine at lasts
The empty moon said I could not make it
Hid my treasure with her glare
Vain words sound high and mighty,
But to the fighter goes the spoils
Through years of violence, tears and blood
My sweat is on the scales
The measure of my woes is filled
I have passed the test
Tonight speaks of laughter,
Saying too that tears are fine
But I am silent here at sunrise
There's more to life then happiness and sorrow
Eighty years wrapped in toil and fear
Though I am weak certainly
I am real in a land of virtual men
And held in the tears of my Maker
Is my life that cannot die
Well, that didn't come out as well as I had hoped, but there it is,
taTa
posted by Feanor at 11:32 PM
14 Comments:
Can I show your poems to a friend of mine? He would really like them. Lying friends? :-(
~JCP
Certainly you may, or just send him to my blog, I always like more readers :).
the essence of love may be found in a shopping cart
Thanks Bro, I know I can always count on you to come up with profound answers to the tough questions in life.
Evan, you have serious and amazing talents. Wow.
Umm, Jordan.... I stand in awe.... wow....
Hey, you're not telling us about your week - are you?
Hey man I'm not gonna lie... you're sounding pretty slit-my-wrist-emo...and your poem didn't rhyme. I guess that's just the difference between you and me...I have awful poems that rhyme...and you have really good ones that don't. Maybe if we join together we can write good poems that rhyme (or bad ones that don't) anyway that poem was way good, and I agree with Jordan (though I'd have to replace 'shopping cart' with 'Bus-tub') and I was just JKin' about the whole emo thing (it does though).
Ha! The profile pic is much improved. ::sigh:: Are you, by any chance, related to the people in my youth group? Crazy emo people.
Shopping cart - Kroger? Hmmm.
I was browsing your archives and found a fantastic post on March 1, 2005. My request is that you should repost it - it's good enough. One of the things you said you wanted to do before you die was to become a published author. That will be accomplished within the year. Find a publisher or magazine and send in your poems for pete's sake! They're good enough, and you'll have accomplished a life goal. DO it!!!!!
~JCP
Let Me See This Mystery Work Of Art.
Whatever Leighanne, anyone that wants to can jolly well go to March 1, 2005 in the archives like you did and look at that list. And no, I'm not going to make a fool of myself by sending my entirely mediocre poems to any magazines. Thanks for the compliment though, even if it was misguided ;).
Well, Mr. Numbskull, You are too thick-headed to listen to a good piece of advice! Half of success is simply showing up in the first place! *sniff* I will send them in for you, in your name. You'll be getting a letter of congratulations one of these days!
~JCP
Alright, Evan. Enough resting. Time for another post.
(Just kidding, DUH -- but if this actually annoys you, do tell me, dude, and I shall cease immediately.)
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