|View single post by Alan|
|Posted: Mon Mar 22nd, 2010 02:49 pm||
|I'm wondering if this poem I've written in response to a particular occasion has any meaning to those not privy to that specific moment. Let me know, if you have a moment--does this have any independent meaning or do you feel it's too specific a response to exist outside its initial conversation?
Is this what we've engendered? This foul spit
I drool down from the balcony
To insult strangers? And yet I sit
And hope that hate and alchemy
Will mix and somehow ease the ache that comes
When others gather where I'm uninvited.
The young, the rich, the one who plumbs
The subtle tongues while I feel slighted.
This impulse once led men like me to rip
And burn in secret. Real estate was lost.
So I suppose this virtual blade I grip
And faking flame has barely any cost.
I'm sorry that I'm lonely. In despair
I throw these petty stones out to the air.