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Dark Poetry #4
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PI
| Dark Poetry #4 |
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PI |
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Seeker72 Member
since 2007-02-24
Posts 387Oregon USA |
I'm feeling extra dark tonight. . PI . Winds whipping past the windows of my home So unprotected by the harshness of humanity The news crying somewhere in the background Like a child told it has no more treats left to indulge themselves Telling me of spoiled deaths within the realms of peoples lives I shall never meet Still I feel sorry for them Under my breath Under the shimmer of darkness Under a blanket of relief that it was not me Crawling doubt It scatters along the walls in the hallway Tracing steps along the wall up to the ceiling Hiding from sight in fear Fear Something everything lives by Those that don’t know no better are fools It keeps you grounded Like the noises in the dark when you switch out the lights Wondering no matter your age if tonight Shall be the night those hands reach from under your bed To take your soul You feared them as a child At times you fear it as an adult Only the brave tell you so Only the foolish of heart say it isn’t so Only the unfortunate Are dragged underneath Better them than you Until the moment comes When the lights are out and your 50-year-old heart beats a little too fast So disgusted with yourself At the childish foolishness of ignorance The fountain of youth One never sips from So disgusted The loss we all endure To become that so much more To become so accomplished in a job that once you are dead All shall forget To become the perfect father Or mother To fade into time Once your children are dead along side you So disgusting we are to live such impotent lives So sad we let ourselves do it A bottle is a crutch A cigarette our lifeline Intelligence governed by numbers Numbers attached to paper To create a monetary world So funny An old man out in the country He could tell you about the constellations Give you their history Yet the only time Pi is mentioned Is when his wife bakes one Usually on a Sunday To have after church Maybe with milk Until the night he feels the hands Under his bed Then he knows Like so many others That life is not what we all think it to be Life is not so supermarket fresh When death comes It is not freshly sealed like coffee from Brazil When death comes it doesn’t have a red sale tag Telling you how fortunate you are for stumbling upon such a pointless item Something you never truly needed Yet fought over because it was cheap Pride of place At the back of the closet Something for your children to ponder When you cross over Wondering just why you had this thing This God-awful thing They put it down to senility They put it down to bad taste As they put you down into the ground Walking away to bicker over who gets what Except for that sale item you fought so hard to buy Coming home wondering why yourself Wishing you could pass it off that next Christmas Knowing you never could Wishing to you had the will power to just throw it over the bridges rail You stood there For almost an hour you stood there So many people had climbed the very same rail And plummeted to the icy waters below They gave their lives for the sake of nothing Yet still you held onto it Held onto your greed Your foolishness Your stupidity At home you cried about it About the lives lost Yet mostly about how you couldn’t let go Such a deal Such a life Disgusted with ourselves do we wander Through the darkened halls Listening to the scratching of fear as it scurries away into the cracks Disgusted with ourselves do we inhale the sweet smell of fresh baked pie As the news tells us of the dead While we head to church The children screaming and running around the house and out into the yard So perfect does it seem The steam still rising from the pie As the phone rings Never to be answered The constellations slowly make their way across the darkness To be watched by some one else’s eyes Like the moon A keeper of lives Yet unknowing of their role Uncaring of their role Do we constantly carry forth our gene In the never ending fight for eternal youth I see my father in my eyes My mother in my voice I see them in my son I wish him better times I wish myself those times also Whispers in the hallway frighten me As I climb into bed do I jump to avoid those hands So childish I think once tucked up snuggly So real do we think it is As we try to reach the bed unharmed So cold does the ground get When winter comes to call Freezing the sod like rock Do you ever think of lying there? Wrapped like a bed Surround by wood Surrounded by frozen soil As the world above carries on Unknowing Uncaring While you rot So very slowly Because for some strange reason we as the intelligent breed Decided to inject everything we could think of to slow the process down Why? I never understood It’s like buying an iron that made coffee just because it was on sale No one wants it Like your dead body No one wants that either So why prolong the decay? I find it somewhat ironic that we dedicate so much land to the dead As we live in rabbit hutches It seems to me We live our lives backwards We live our lives in self-disgust I may be wrong Wouldn’t be the first time These thoughts only come to me as I watch the wind It rips off dying leaves Scattering them to the four winds Screaming they fly past my view Clawing at my window for salvation While my wife bakes us a delicious Pi [This message has been edited by Seeker72 (11-08-2007 09:49 AM).] |
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| © Copyright 2007 Christopher Duncan - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Mystress May Member
since 2007-10-25
Posts 296Taunton, MA |
I love following the Pi throughout... I'd almost recommend renaming it to Pi. It seems an apt theme to follow that which you describe. Fabulous! |
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Seeker72 Member
since 2007-02-24
Posts 387Oregon USA |
I couldn't agree more MM. Thanks for your input. |
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Mystress May Member
since 2007-10-25
Posts 296Taunton, MA |
YAY!!! I logged on and immediately saw the change.... it fits well, doll. Our scars are the foundation for what we have become |
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