Too Late

You, We Me

Somehow, I know; don’t ask me how

but I know

the pain to come; the sorrow; the loss.

My voice is mild

I let you know

But you have no time; to hear the clock chime.

My sayings; Monotonous

I raise my voice

But you are just as before; without a care or choice.

Disappointed, I shout

Irritated are the crowd

Preoccupied; you ignore; to convince I talk more.

Earnestly I try

like a sharp edged knife

to cut through and through; and reach the closed mind.

Sharp, rude, loud, crude, and mild --

Alas! Only if you had heard, what I did say

this gigantic disaster indeed; would not have taken place.

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Laura Maguire's picture

That totally rules man.My fave one!Keep writing...

Paige Fossett's picture

Beautiful poem! Very thought prevoking! Please let me know when you write more!

Ernest Bevans's picture

Wether the adressee in this poem is the World
or those close and cherished in our lives;
the truth is we have the same Nemisis acting
against us, I call it the "Cassandra Principle"
- Those of us who see the future and those
who do not and will not listen to warning.
Dear Jayati, Keep Writing - Keep the faith.