The Hollow Men in the Moon

I could tear down the world if I tried,

But I don’t, so it spins on the same.

I could build up to touch satellites,

But I sit and complain instead of my pains

In my head

In my heart

In my side

And my back is becoming irksome.

I think that I might be finally done

With my relentless needs to save everyone.

I just want merely meager paychecks

And eventually to owe no loans to no one.

There is a trigger that’s flipped in our heads

Sometime between idealistic and dead.

It tells us to work for the living we like

And to give up on all our fearsome dear fight.

A limitless void of debt collection

And the animal drive toward procreation.

This is the timeless American dream

But it’s flawed and fraying at red, black, and blue seams.

That is the reality of what we’ve become

And what we must be to survive.

I feel as though when I’m trapped here

That we all have already died.

Perhaps I should just retire today

To a place that resembles Thoreau’s far away pace.

I wish to live like the poets of pasts,

But the hole in my wallet says that never can last.

So, I sit here tapping away

At the keys of a Macbook that is showing its age.

I pray with each letter

That I’ll find something better

That’ll lead me once more to a path to some change.

That road will take me to climbing treetops

And I’ll build from there to the moon.

I’ll dive from those lofty cratered blue skies,

But I shall fall back to earth all too soon.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

"That road will take me to climbing treetops
And I’ll build from there to the moon.
I’ll dive from those lofty cratered blue skies,
But I shall fall back to earth all too soon."
You are writing like a old man already. Swimming in old thoughts and memory. I enjoyed the poem. The above lines are my favorite. I'm lucky today. I have grandsons who keep me young. Thank you for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote