STREET LIGHTS

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STREET LIGHTS

THE DAY IS DONE, NOW IT'S TIME TO GO HOME
I DON'T WORRY ABOUT COMPANY, FOR I AM NEVER ALONE
I TURN UP MY IPOD, TO HEAR A NICE TUNE
THEN I ASK MYSELF, "WHY ARE THESE STREET LIGHTS IN MY LIVING ROOM"?

ONCE I WAS HOMELESS, THAT WAS NO FUN AT ALL
YET SOME OF THE HOMELESS, SEEM TO BE HAVING A BALL

IT'S HARD TO STAY CLEAN, FOREVER SCRATCHING AND ITCHIN
AND WHEN YOU SIT DOWN TO EAT, THERE ARE STREET LIGHTS IN YOUR KITCHEN

THAT WAS NO WAY TO LIVE, AND I REALLY MUST CONFESS
BY WRITING THIS POEM, I CAN GET IT OFF OF MY CHEST

YOUR BED IS BOXES AND BLANKETS, A OLD RAG IS YOUR BROOM
NO MATTER WHICH WAY YOU TURN, THOSE STREET LIGHTS SHINE IN YOUR ROOM

BUT LIKE THE OSTRITCH, I FINALLY GOT MY HEAD OUT OF THE SAND
AND STOOD ON MY FEET, LIKE ANY GOOD MAN

THEY SAY ONE DAY THE CAT WILL LAY WITH THE MOUSE
AND I FINALLY GOT THE STREET LIGHTS OUT OF MY HOUSE

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lonewolf commented on STREET LIGHTS

04-27-2009

excellent poem! congratulations

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.

airfondia’s Poems (2)

Title Comments
Title Comments
STREET LIGHTS 1
STEP UP TO THE PLATE 2