Well, you never know where the idea for a poem comes from. I think this came about because of a post my friend Rustin Sparks put on Facebook. I think it had something to do with our FAKE president. It seems like that's right. Any, I like the sound of it, the feel of it, and it may . . . maybe it makes some kind of sense?
Though others dread
the possibility
of my longevity,
the steady warm swarm
of an anxious voice
singing sorrows
that were borrowed
from other sorrows
that I’ve felt before,
long before
is the only beauty
we will ever know.
I listen to evil
speak of evil
as if evil and he
weren't good friends.
about existence
and resistance is futile
and I think on that a while
to speak further on this matter
because matter doesn’t matter . . . anymore.
Woodie o2-o6-18
A Poem for
Rustin
Woke up.
Not dead.
A relief
for me.Though others dread
the possibility
of my longevity,
the steady warm swarm
of an anxious voice
singing sorrows
that were borrowed
from other sorrows
that I’ve felt before,
long before
I was ever born.
I don't
know if life
is pleasant
or if strifeis the only beauty
we will ever know.
I listen to evil
speak of evil
as if evil and he
weren't good friends.
Yes, I
pretend to be happy
somewhat
mooshily sappyabout existence
and resistance is futile
and I think on that a while
and
decide I'll decline
to write,
to type, to say,to speak further on this matter
because matter doesn’t matter . . . anymore.
Woodie o2-o6-18
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