disillusionment
is not what i meant,
dying on the vine
is not the best place
One can so easily
destroy the charm
of life, and free
of delusion
there is not much
left to do but to sit
and wait for better
times or to go out
and see what is
there, around, now.
i feel detached from
even me as i ask:
who sits here,
is he present?
he watches himself,
lost in questions.
i think i better
give him a push,
another name,
drive him as mad
as everybody is:
insane, exquisitely
in pain. when
we read we laugh.
so i write
to read
to laugh
to forget
what i wrote
No comments:
Post a Comment