Daily Archives: June 12, 2006

Nobody Wants to Hear

I could be bitter about all this shit
or at least, start to doubt a benevolent universe;
whine on in rhyme about storm clouds and sunshine
that doesn’t come out ‘cept to drink up the water.

My angst could flower under its own power,
give me at least something to call creativity,
some kind of edifice, beautiful, more or less,
a place to lead willing lambs to the slaughter.

Nobody wants to hear you’re doing fine
Thinking your happiness is just a line
To sell them something which they are inclined
to believe could end any old time

I could be bitter, and perhaps I am;
but Goddamn, what’s the point if your grief isn’t endable?
drown in your own tears, and you die expendible
one more pathetic and troubling statistic.

The blues could cover me beneath a shadow,
give me some shade on these hot summer nights,
some of kind of protection from clear understanding,
but would my demons be more realistic?

Nobody wants to hear that you’re OK
without a care for their cares and dismay
working through your special brand of malaise
seeing both colors and grays.

I could be bitter about how things are;
find a bar serving solace and fade from the light;
sing out the changes in slow minor modes:
let my mood fill darkness around me.

My holocaust could be compared to your own;
let us groan ‘neath these chains here together,
spend our time looking for some life beyond
and pretend it’s all inclement weather.

Nobody wants to know your life is great,
instead pretending we share the same fate,
wanting to think that the reason you’re late
is the same trouble piled onto everyone’s plate.

12 JUN 2006

Share This:

Beyond the Salad Days

If these are our salad days,
when does the entree arrive?
Pretending that greens are a meal
sounds contrived;
and furthermore, not quite enough
to survive
throught the supper tonight.

If these are the best of times,
why bother with vintage wine?
Pretending that grape juice has legs
may be fine;
but nonetheless, they’re bound to stop
at the spine,
leaving your drinking crippled.

What about moving beyond what you know,
finding a place where you don’t have to go
planting a seed and then watching it grow,
wanting something more
than becoming a vegetable?

If these are our salad days,
how long before the main course?
Pretending the apertif’s filling
sounds forced;
how long can you keep beating
on a dead horse
and hope to arrive?

If this is the best that it gets,
why keeping hoping for more?
Pretending you’ve won, but still
trying to keep score
is like loving the ocean
but hating its roar,
its interminable drifting.

What about letting illusions decay
When they’ve no purpose but stand in your way
Seeing the fall come as early as May
Knowing the cycle is more
than your part of it?

If these are our salad days,
what kind of diet is this?
Pretending it’s all there is to it
seems a bit remiss;
and furthermore, while ignorance
may be bliss
it’s not very filling.

If these are the golden years,
why bother when these days fade?
Pretending it’s worthwhile
is just a charade;
and furthermore, seems just a bit
to a crowd that’s not willing.

What about tasting the rest of the meal
seeking beyond the orange to the peel
gathering experience of what is real
living and dying as less
than a superstar?

12 JUN 2006

Share This: