We won’t go ambushing grief
She will find us – trembling, naive
To the power of our tragedy
This is not cinematics, circus-stunts
This is our Life, calm and bleak
Sweet, with unexpected concerts
I won’t be going to enormous cities
Like you, I’m staying put, staying
Humble, simple, in the experience
Of an Alumni from all that I was supposed to be
We won’t go hijacking, ‘everything in it’s rightful place’
You used to say so casually, making it easier
To leave, to return to your liberated ‘freedom’
I won’t find salvation so easily, I’m afraid
My dad doesn’t say a word about, depression
We won’t go hiding form fate, it will hit us
Black, blue, purple – three syllables in chaos
I am my father’s father, ill-mooned withdrawal
Quarantined in these little years
Waiting for whole days, that never come
I am tired of being criticized, I am cold
I imagine myself happy, in line to be touched.
A dream, after all…
Yes we live in myths, opinions and dreams, after all, or at least it would seem.
In your dream, you write an astonishing amount of lovely poetry. Thank you.
Haha I’m really into it recently 🙂 Thanks for the attention MS
There is sensuality in between your words. Like that.
I try to be sensual at times, to make up for the dullness you know 😛