Manicured city walls
Stomping through summer puddles
Curiosities of a finer life
Scorching rays, can’t help but befuddle
Recoiling to the chaffy shade
Searching for the talisman of the storm
Knowing we’re in for a futile calm
Who could’ve predicted it’d be this warm
But we keep on pushing through
Wicking precipitation from her summer gown
Effort to remain a head above
A damn shame if we perish & drown
Image by Terri Cnudde from Pixabay
You say I’m doing it wrong
I’m about to gavel you with my dong
I don’t need any instruction
You say I’m due for destruction
Fuck off with your prophecies
You’re not quite Socrates
Stop, these attempts are futile
I reject your whole kit & caboodle
You’re not the Lord, you have no domain
I am here and I shall always remain
Just an old poem that made me laugh. Hope You enjoyed it! (yes, that’s me on 2/18/97 according to the date stamp… my senior year!)
Oh, where does our journey end
Or begin, as it so often might seem
Futile attempts to erase the past
The unknown details of our dreams
The open road panders to a false escape
The mere opportunity to rewrite a sojourn
Jesus perambulating with Uncle Walt
Debating the path; perchance to learn
Shaky prospects in apportioned time
Manifest destiny teases Ginsburg & Kerouac
Further roads leading to ornate wisdom
& we keep it concealed out in the back
Thoreau mocking society with his solitude
Knowing alone is the greatest we could ever be
Thoughts come to us in gentle waves
That perhaps our visions should become the sea
A reinterpretation of westward expansion
Route 66 cross-contaminating Highway 61
All roads have never led us home
Emily tempting Death with her life left undone
The growing wisdom of our consumed space
Emerson’s penning pre-revolutionary blues
Introducing our souls to unrefined grace
The Good Lord providing Her unfiltered muse
Feeble humanity; lost across the tracks
Original sin that we’ve taken on the chin
Sifting thought; we might be welcomed again
But knock off the Devil’s dust before you come in
Captain Q 