Fine Gould

0 Comments

Tags:
  • Confusion

    Fine Gould

    Fine Gould

    The righteous man will stumble hard.
    As the crooked man steps over him.
    The right way seems the long way.
    The wrong way always seem the best way.
    Your conscience numbs.
    The saliva wets your desert dry mouth.
    Flies buzz around you forehead.
    Because your brain is dead.
    The constant humming is the internal though drowning out the sound waves.
    As you do the right thing remember.
    The only one who cares is you.
    And the voices inside your head.

    Poem Comments

    (0)

    Please login or register

    You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
    leave comments/feedback and rate this poem.

    Login or Register

    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

    Judas’s Poems (5)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    One Bad Day 0
    Fine Gould 0
    Exodux 0
    Fibbing Coon 0
    California Sundays 0

    Judas’s Friends (1)