"faded" musings

i spend most nights

alone at the bar

at the end of the street

next to gas stations 

and weed dispensaries 

lonely men, come and go

through those beaten doors

on barstools and dance floors

leaving the bar with glass rows

reminiscent of whiskey and sorrows

and sometimes

those strangers will sit

too close and comfortably

their arms and well meanings,

all welcome next to me

more often than not

their stories sit forgotten

except on my wary travelers mind

and i jot them down in journals

so that they too will be immortalized

except for one, ill always remember those eyes

he asked "are we truly ever forgotten, once we die?"

and to that i raised my glass of brandy and said

"the immortal men wander, and ask those questions, not knowing their lives"

his reply, i remember solemnly,

"what the f**k does that mean?"

Reviews

[Beren]

There is a smell of your poems, a combination of asphalt and cigarette smoke. As if it were midnight in a gas station. Melancholy is so heavy, vivid, screaming. I feel like I know all the characters you've been mentioning in your poems...
"are we truly ever forgotten, once we die?" Great, torture me with every question!
Your poems are alive, they are all in a person, and they are between us