I awake into darkness
The lamp's light shuddering my reluctant eye
Like a rusted man, joints tired, I dress in worker's clothes
My belly only full with toasted bread I walk into the chill of blackness,
A courage rises as a hard step
But by midday the fight is gone, my dreams returning to a bed's desire
Years ago, when i was young,
i had a big lazy grin
It was fun, dreaming, smoking weed in the park
i hear the laughter sometimes of my old friends
Talking like a summer breeze, when time will come, when we are men
lovers of life, of women, of ourselves with lazy grin
Now I am old,
When I see these youth, I warn them to waste know years,
don't be like me, but mostly I wish i were them
What do I need to do?
Slam shut the poem?
Lock it tightly so no verse escapes into me?
Is there purpose to fight such things?
Let it be what it is, perhaps
the words as the answer, the question revealed as a strange vastness
LIFE OF A POET - JOHN BUCHANAN
4 hours ago