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Poetry
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Source:
Adults
Author:
jonny graham
Title:
Head Down .
Head down and sad in hands ,
broken by t.v.
The political debate
the to and fro of argument
tabloid gossip
and the knife blade on the street .
The homeless musician ,
non-stereotypical ,
with a dog in a duvet , shivering .
The unwashed people and clothes ,
the Monday morning beggars ,
dirty hands .
The times we live in .
Phone abuse .
Suspension , not by rope .
The first cold snap of Winter .
Caught with no coat .
Semi-shocked and semi-frozen
like Icelandic hope .
Glimpses in windows ,
other lives ,
other unmade beds .
And a certain tightness in the head .
Some tangible strife .
And my sixteen year old son
who is staying with me for half-term holiday
takes x-box games more serious
than real life , for christ sakes .
Please give me a break ,
that's what everyone seems to be asking for these days .
And t.v. is still the focal point of the masses .
Still drives opinion .
Still offers chances .
And that painting , that masterpiece ,
will never get done .
That epic poem , floating in your head ,
will never be written .
Subscribe to the opiate of the state ,
submit , get bitten .
Overheard conversations ,
someone sad on the phone ,
he touched her ,
so innocent ,
crowded out by social stigma ,
so all alone .
The charred rafters ,
smoking in my heads history .
Yesterdays flowers tossed in the ashes
of lifes never ending mystery .
The broken lives and vacant eyes
the confusion and raw panic
that sears minds
that spend time alone
with no one else
in a shit hole called home.
Many eyes look but many eyes don't see .
The various people who are dead ,
who really don't need to be .
The weight of social expectation
drawn up and neatly listed ,
the tasks done crossed out
and new ones continually added .
That's how it happens ,
getting nowhere fast ,
just generating so much sadness .
If I could freeze these beads of frustration
I would present them to you
like little glittery jewels of insanity
and say hey you
we are not that different really
both members of sapien humanity .
Not lonely .
Not hungry .
Not much to complain about .
But something is gnawing inside ,
eating at life .
Tearing us up .
Too much trouble to ask why ,
scared to disturb
the peace and the quiet .
Published on writebuzz®:
Adults
> Poetry
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