Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Nostalgia

I remember bits and pieces of poems from college
My eyes bleed if I stare too long
They bleed water and my soul hurts
They are random flashes of prose and imagery
Plastic nuns in leather habits
The weary-eyed crucified ladies of the labyrinth
Lining like cheerleaders to the apocalypse after-party
BYOB of course
Some are longer than others and feel almost complete
The dragon wandering without a flame
Playing by the rules, but losing the game
And in his acceptance he lost his might
Laying down and refusing to fight
I question if I will ever find a use for them
He’s looking for gold in a dark silver mind
With no flame to light his way, truth he’ll never find
And we are who he has to blame
For we are the dragon who’s lost its flame
And I wonder if I just did

8 comments:

littlebirdblue said...

I would like to state for the record that I firmly believe poetry is vital to the continued existence of both man and lemming alike.

Variant E said...

I certify it VE acceptible! (that just means that it rhymes).

Serena Joy said...

I agree with Littlebird. In fact, there ought to be a law. Leming Law?:)

Kanrei said...

I became a twitter it seems. I was inspired to copy the two of you and remove "comments" for something more me. Tee hee, all lemmings are followers in one way or another.

Scary Monster said...

Of all the lemmings there has to be one who jumps first. Me fears that that lemming be you, Kanrei.

Be this the start of the slam you were talking about?

Kanrei said...

Not yet SM, warming up. This one really is what is says- I had these lines from old poems bouncing about my brain and had no idea what to do with them, but was afraid I might lose them one day so here they are. You will see them again one day in a proper form though.

Scary Monster said...

Me wants to personally thank you for contributing to me recent tirade. It means a lot to me that you brought your acumen to me home. Me will always attempt ton do the same for you, me friend.
Stompin.

Serena Joy said...

Is there a word for lemmings who are afraid of heights? That would be me. I just know somebody's going to push me off that cliff.

I have poetry for the slam. Somewhere. I remember writing it, and I remember posting it. Somewhere. Alas, I can't remember where. It may have been on some site I let lapse. Did I keep hard copies? Of course not!