I’m seeking a truth within these fragmented words
My thoughts won’t cooperate with how my fingers move
Typing on this old handmedown machine to transform
My mundane existence into a magical, deliberate groove
I am not afraid to expose the flesh of a wilted soul
There are no heroes in these parts, just broken misanthropes
Internalizing the segmented society & all the villains
Returning to coffee so black the void regains precious hope
Do our words mark us guilty
Those found in books & memory’s pages
Does knowledge slowly wilt thee
Creating the soul in starts & stages
Wilting roses by the fireside
Coffee warming bones chilled from the boat
Drifting thoughts to stagnant memories
Thawing words from poems you never wrote
Returning to simplicity
Tossing out these fledgling fates
Stunted growth increasing these days
Hindered by our technological rates
I don’t want to watch my soul wilt
I want to break free & soak up the sunshine
I’m through with this culture of victims
You’ll hear the dial tone & know its mine
Captain Q 