Drifting BlueA Poem by Drifting Blueself-portraitCast dispersions on my sanity Who’s the wiser, the smarter
If you think your brain’s a temple
And mine’s a coal mine
You ain’t wrong, you might be right
I went astray in the last second before the big bang
And lost the light of my star
Midst the overwhelming helium cloud
The ever rising pyre of the eagle nebula
And you call my life a black hole
You ain’t wrong, you might be right
Figure out my mood, read the tea leaves, the dregs
All of life is found in the waste and waste runs the show
The effort of the undertow is gravity’s last word
The last train out of town, the end of the line
The place where my yes means yes and no means no
And still you see me unable to make a choice
You ain’t wrong, you might be right
Walking the halls in this tin can mansion
Staring at the stairs unable to climb
Ripped shirt and low heeled boot tat tat
And you call me out so that I might be saved
But you find the disappointment of another feint, slight of hand
You ain’t wrong, you might be right
So the stillness belies the silent clown
Living in his own mess, his haunted box
Where the street lights cast shadows over the night space
That I inhabit and bid you come
You say no thanks, there’s demons in there
You ain’t wrong, you might be right.
© 2008 Drifting BlueReviews
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5 Reviews Added on June 26, 2008 AuthorDrifting BlueBad Lands, NCAboutPoet, Short Story writer. Insane. Little by little, we reveal everything. The itch is just too great to be anonymous. Who I am is what I write and vice versa. You'll see. Riding The Waterfall: The W.. more..Writing
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