Happy

A free-verse poem I wrote on an impulse. This is the first poem that I have ever written without proceeding to promptly throw it in the trash upon completion. :)

Heya, sweetheart--

 

I think jealous looks good on you

Maybe we could tap our weary feet

On the stained-glass floor

While our minds swim at mach five

Through the marshmallow hatred

Of our bretheren

 

Do we have to be immortal?

If we sing to the clouds, then

Maybe, just maybe,

They’ll give us the manna

We so long for--in sleep, in thought, in rage--

Sleeping harshly on the sharp pillows

Of soft nails

 

How do we breathe?

It’s simple, hon, because anguish

is only a state of mind

We’ll paint the sun blue to escape

And then float away

Into the empty,

Drawing horizontal lines

on our imaginations

Until we decay into

The vertigo somnambulism

Of complacency.

Author's Note

Yeah, yeah, it's weird. I know. And Walt Whitman, father of free-verse, is probably rolling over in his grave right now at this travesty I am publishing.
Oh well.

Reviews

[NonsenseTyper]

Beautiful, strange and Lovely!
May you always follow your creative Impulse!

[Crystal Overmeyer-Birmi..]

I think it is well thought out and has a certain distorted beauty to it. I liked the angel theme. I love the last line until we decay into the vertigo somnambulism of complacency. Deep.

[John P.]

Its simply wonderful. You are gifted.