To Oblivion

I'm waiting to write and writing to wait

Waiting for the nine-point, tectonic break

 

A slave to the measurement of time

Waiting for the right moment to rhyme

 

And this batch of meaningless words

Really inspires a lack of action verbs

 

I'll be ninety years of advanced age

Locked in my body, the immobile cage

 

Slurping my food through a loopy straw

Awaiting that all final, all universal law

 

I haven't made the dent in any mind

All my prose is in a pile left behind 

 

Two of the five Americans saw the light

They are immortal, albeit somewhat slight

 

So consider this my Western Union telegram

Even though it will be buried deep in the sand

 

Piling meters high after centuries of erosion

All I hear is the distant laughter explosion

 

Ah well, what does it matter when I'm gone?

The fires of hell keep me company forever long

 

So much for this pursuit, this pointless chase

I now resign myself to oblivion for your sakes

Reviews

[Neva Flores Smith - Cha..]

Kenneth, you have penned thoughts I have often. I wonder why I write, why do I continuously write. Does anyone get what I am saying? Will it matter when I am gone? Oh, I hope so. We chase and chase these words, attempting to create something, just one piece that will touch the heart of everyone and turn lights on in their minds and souls....so perhaps it is not a pointless chase after all. Wonderful piece!

[Scarecrow November]

A very well written piece.