My Edge Died

This one's for me. It's not that good, but it needed to be written.

 

I think… I think he’s dead

Couldn’t be?

In the time he spent running

Came the second he dropped

And died.

 

       The words of my once yearning demise

Sprung up counterclockwise

And razed the ideal death he had.

       He wanted his dignity concealed

But not so much hiding.

He wanted the world to stop, drop, and listen

To the last release of momentous breath.

“I…” he would gasp, and fall peacefully

Forever leaving us to ponder what

He was trying to provoke.

 

I saw him this morning, he looked fine.

He was standing up by the corner

Waiting for a bus.

He looked relaxed, or just tired.

He was wearing sunglasses,

The ones we all hated

But never dared to admit.

 

       The clock, winding, like a child’s toy

Convicting us of felony against a life unloved.

We’re dying, every day.

The way our words choke up when nerves arise;

That’s death of speech.

The way we look away when her eyes beg for love;

Death of trust, it be.

We die in such a sort,

Conjuring up the will to fail at everything

We dare to try.

 

He never liked the poems like this…

He preferred the ones with outstanding vocabulary

That I regularly wrote.

I shrugged.

His opinion never mattered to me,

He wasn’t into literature.

Reviews

[bluessadmood]

you are trying to say many things here,i think,hope i am right,he is dying here before you he was just up and running and smiling like every day life,but the minute he is back he just fell dead trying to ,he wanted the world to stop to witness his last breath ,but the world will never stop,this life an un loved life,we are surely dying every day,little by little,this is a nasty life,i hope i got what you mean ,but this is so nice i could feel the great emotions behind the words,and the strong feelings,lovely work