Post by heeeeey on Aug 2, 2014 12:32:18 GMT -8
I was looking for some old poems I had written to post here, and I chose this one that I wrote back around the mid to late 80's. Reading it now so many years later, I don't really remember why I wrote it or what exactly it means, but it must've been about small-town frustration.
"This"
I want to tell someone
But I'm in this alone.
So I keep another dream
Hidden in my soul.
Expressionless me,
I don't let them see,
But if I thought they would care,
I might set it free.
But they just go about their daily life,
Don't even see that I'm alive.
But I live, yes, I live in this.
In the subtle and sublime,
Between a limit and fine line.
Between the reach and the goal,
What draws spirit to soul.
In new hopes and old dreams,
What this is, what this seems.
I remain quiet, they clueless
To who I am, where I've been,
Where I'm out, where I'm in.
In poetry's verse, in beauty's curse.
I'm the very sound, the wave, the energy,
Yes, I've known every cry, every feeling,
Every desire, every wish they've had
To get out; out of "THIS place,"
"THIS moment," "THIS job,"
"THIS situation," "THIS dream," "THIS body,"
"THIS life," "THIS state of mind,"
"THIS uneasy feeling."
I know they want to tell someone,
But they're in this alone,
So they keep their dreams
Hidden in their soul.
Expressionless, they don't
Pave their own way, but follow
down a path others have already paved.
Resenting those taking a different route
Experiencing life out,
Out of this, While they go about their daily life,
And won't ever see just who's alive
In this.
"This"
I want to tell someone
But I'm in this alone.
So I keep another dream
Hidden in my soul.
Expressionless me,
I don't let them see,
But if I thought they would care,
I might set it free.
But they just go about their daily life,
Don't even see that I'm alive.
But I live, yes, I live in this.
In the subtle and sublime,
Between a limit and fine line.
Between the reach and the goal,
What draws spirit to soul.
In new hopes and old dreams,
What this is, what this seems.
I remain quiet, they clueless
To who I am, where I've been,
Where I'm out, where I'm in.
In poetry's verse, in beauty's curse.
I'm the very sound, the wave, the energy,
Yes, I've known every cry, every feeling,
Every desire, every wish they've had
To get out; out of "THIS place,"
"THIS moment," "THIS job,"
"THIS situation," "THIS dream," "THIS body,"
"THIS life," "THIS state of mind,"
"THIS uneasy feeling."
I know they want to tell someone,
But they're in this alone,
So they keep their dreams
Hidden in their soul.
Expressionless, they don't
Pave their own way, but follow
down a path others have already paved.
Resenting those taking a different route
Experiencing life out,
Out of this, While they go about their daily life,
And won't ever see just who's alive
In this.