PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I wanted to write a poem

That everybody could relate to

But I find myself torn

Between an actual distinction

In the thck of life

And poetry.

Because I can count

With seven of my fingers

The amount of cloudy days

In the past eight months.

And I can count with seven of your fingers

The amount of times

Life has come to poetry

And poetry to life

In the past five seconds.

So I spend words like they grow on trees

They call me Howard

As hues of blue explain my emotion

And yet, I feel like a magician

With no magic in his life,

Because like racecar spelled backwards

All my words are the same

As life has somehow become the bane

Of my existance.



But don't be afraid

Because I am still your pusherman

If you wanna purchase

My knowledge of being,

Seeing as how it is not your fault

That I lost myself somewhere down there,

Down where?

Down there in the gentler memory

That was once my childhood...



I wanted to be a superhero

Of course.

With a big imagination

Thinkin everythings gonna be alright

But like water out of a faucet

My dreams drained away.

And I could not escape

The undenyable given

That superman is not real.