the works of America’s greatest living poemetrist, alive or otherwise.
my tragedy
compared to
other tragedies(
yours is
not less nor….
there’s a tenderness
i miss
more than i can say
for i have never
felt….
if only
there were a reason
for all the sadness,
pain and suffering,
a reason that made….
people claim
the world is complicated
and the problems we face
are hard.
that’s a lie….
how easily i break:
a word,
a thought,
another failure added
to a long lifetime of failures….
who i am
is not
who i want
to be.
the problem is….
by the millions
they come and go,
these humans
who try so desperately
to prove they are….
the emptiness of this world
is where it waits,
the silence that allows me
to get up and walk
away from the noise….
being human
and being happy
are clearly
two different things.
we could be happy….
humans aren’t satisfied
with “propagating the species”
as a reason for existence,
so we make up stories
about god and higher purpose….
the bullies,
when i was young,
were girls & boys
who needed
to let me know….
i don’t expect
to wake each morning
(any morning)
with a happy smile
on my face….
i think,
therefore,
i am.
how fair
is that?
if i were to admit regret
about the choices i made
years ago in my youth;
if i were to wish
i had had the courage….
i am happy to live
in a world without god.
don’t get me wrong.
i would like to live forever,
and i sure as hell….
