Saturday, November 08, 2003
poetry is in the eye of the beholder
It's my blog. I say that in apology because I've decided to write a few poems, and I'm writing them here. They are not going to be good. They won't rhyme or have meter most of the time. They might even use really bad metaphors (like this one).
On a shelf lies the man I used to be
He sticks up slightly crumpled and bent over
On page 110 or 111
It is hard to tell which because I have forgotten
not just the page where he stopped caring
stopped having the will to contine to page 112
and on though the end
but have forgotten what got him that far
what he used to do to get worked up to get to page 1
Because all the hopes, dreams, projects, and relationships sit on the shelf next to the unfinished book
but they have never been opened
no pages have been turned
And the man I used to be is a bookmark
and he is a better man than I
On a shelf lies the man I used to be
He sticks up slightly crumpled and bent over
On page 110 or 111
It is hard to tell which because I have forgotten
not just the page where he stopped caring
stopped having the will to contine to page 112
and on though the end
but have forgotten what got him that far
what he used to do to get worked up to get to page 1
Because all the hopes, dreams, projects, and relationships sit on the shelf next to the unfinished book
but they have never been opened
no pages have been turned
And the man I used to be is a bookmark
and he is a better man than I
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