The Sleep Walker

1 Comments

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  • Sadness

    The Sleep Walker

    Maybe people didn’t see me as worthy
    Sitting here all the way past my thirties
    Shabby, you could say this is a good word
    Of all the other negative ones, so absurd
    Missed my avenue just by a couple
    That which was of some utter worth
    Though my condensation just about to dry
    As I fear my life ending, or just about to die
    So why pacify another try at salvation
    With all appearances of temptation
    Just would stymy my soul’s purpose
    Convoluted already my mind set, a curse
    Reconciling, as I run my hundredth mile
    Over hurdles and gaps, maybe so my style
    I don’t long to be hated by the whole lot
    Or pushed over by the lump some
    And fear the reactions of all their sots
    Putting my stomach into unnecessary nuts
    Can’t play second fiddle to something I don’t got
    Limping on down this paragon of demise
    Honestly I really don’t find it a surprise
    Living in this shady corpse of my own life’s lies
    Maybe people didn’t see me as worthy
    Sitting here all the way past my thirties
    Shabby, you could say this is a good word
    Of all the other negative ones, so absurd
    Missed my avenue just by a couple
    That which was of some utter worth
    Though my condensation just about to dry
    As I fear my life ending, or just about to die
    So why pacify another try at salvation
    With all appearances of temptation
    Just would stymy my soul’s purpose
    Convoluted already my mind set, a curse
    Reconciling, as I run my hundredth mile
    Over hurdles and gaps, maybe so my style
    I don’t long to be hated by the whole lot
    Or pushed over by the lump some
    And fear the reactions of all their sots
    Putting my stomach into unnecessary nuts
    Can’t play second fiddle to something I don’t got
    Limping on down this paragon of demise
    Honestly I really don’t find it a surprise
    Living in this shady corpse of my own life’s lies

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    ginga commented on The Sleep Walker

    04-14-2009

    cool poem, sad in some ways not sure if the repetition does it justice ginga

    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.

    passjay’s Poems (48)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
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