Misanthropic Mind

Finding inspiration for this voracious entity,

deceivingly described by some as poetry,

is not so free a task, as it once used to be.

In every word, I venture to seek a stream--

beauty naught but seen in dreams...

Alas! My mind rests soundly 'pon the concrete

drearily slumped against my feet.

As if it shared the same belief...

that I make a better stump than leaf!

I wish the ground and I could meet

in a way that ended not in my defeat,

but with gusto, up and through the clouds...

From below, they cast such a depressing shroud.

Now, is there such a difference between levitation

and the sweeping, star-bound gales of imagination?

Such that one is the playground fancy of children,

the other, property of the master magician,

and to entertain both is to become a madman.

Well, I suppose I consider myself the latter, then;

reality and I have never been the best of friends...

and if I must walk another over-tromped step,

I think I'd prefer it a bit closer to the sky--

far and above the world where I'll inevitably die.

Here's hoping the birds are fond of dessicated wit.

By that point I'm sure I'll be quite done with it,

and it'd be a shame to waste such lovely irony.

A poignant poet, weaving together a mournful tune,

contemplating through depths of verisimilitude,

by exalting the fate of becoming worm food!

Maybe that sounds like a melancholic line;

I don't exactly claim to be cheery all the time.

It'd be rather insincere to write like I am fine

just to pen up another gaudy, ornate rhyme.

Find someone else, if you're joyously inclined,

I'm only trying to amuse my misanthropic mind.

Reviews

[Nolo Segundo]

I don't think you're a misanthrope but like Van Gogh, it hurts that the world cannot see what you see. Great talent, like great intelligence or insight, can feel a heavy burden. Those born blind cannot know what they are missing, so they remain complacent. They are asleep, but so are you my friend, though your sleep is so restless-- I sleep as well, the only difference is that I learned a long time ago that so called 'reality' is the illusion. So no, our bodies may be food for the worms but the body is merely a temporary vessel in an endless journey....