PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I wash my hands of innocence.
I wash my hands of youth.
Of hallucinogenic dreams
that did not come true;
Of chocolate cake
that did not taste right.
                                         I speak from age.
                                          I speak of old.
                                         Of grasping ambitions
                                          that will not unfold.
I will never fly like a robin
to the far reaches of the moon.
I will never taste the drifting
of the counter-culture brigade.
Instead I'll move a bit slower
and speak of what I actually know.
                                                I yell from rage.
                                                I yell just to yell.
                                                My voice nothing special
                                                in the castrating machine.
I drink and smoke and menstruate.
I freeze and cough and procrastinate.
                                  Life goes on.
                                   But am I living?
Life calls but have I answered?
                                        I speak from age.
                                          I speak of old.
                                         Of grasping ambitions
                                          that will not unfold.