PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It feels terribly late.

I have things to do. Important things.

But here I am. Sitting, thinking...

Petting my dog.



Just the things you do when you think.



She's just come in and it's winter outside. Very cold.



She's rowdy but responsive.

She seems so sad. She's getting old you know.

I know her birhtday is in April... but I can't remember the year.

She's going to die like we all will.

They say animals can sense when their time is near.

That's the only thing I can conjure to account for her melancholy.

People don't have that sense. Not those who die young anyway.



I don't know what is going on with me.

A friend told me the other day that I was very sad.

I had hardly noticed. You get used to these sort of things.

But when you are sitting, petting your dog, thinking these things...

Well they tend to creep up on you.

Am I sad? Well that's obvious. But why... That is the trouble.

I don't know. That is sad in itself.

WIth all the thinking I do, you'd think I'd have come upon it by now.

As of yet, however, I'm clueless.



Around my friends I'm always of a sunny disposition.

Around strangers I'm pretty indifferent.

But you get me talking about my everyday life and you'll see it too.

Bitter sadness. A lot of pain... Pain from some place unknmown to me.

It's not something I like, and yet there is nothing I can do.



Desperation is defined as a state in which everything seems wrong and will turn out badly.



I think my life has been wrought from desperation.