PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I always read Bukowski when I'm angry.

Or tired.

Or hurt.

I like the way he understood how phony everything is.

How people go about their lives, motion after motion, without any idea of what lies beyond that stagnant pool they flock to.

I'm tired of feeble attempts at life.

I want my chest to burst open from wonder.

I want to laugh the way a child laughs- just for the hell of it.

I want cities to vanish and willow trees to take their place.

I want nature to nuture once again.

I want my soul to be fed.