A poem about being cumbersome. |
-Cumbersome- by Keaton Foster Large Rude Vociferous buffoon Always with something to say Only speaking to deaf people Every damn one of them is Perfectly capable of hearing They just stand there with Their hands over their ears I have something to impart Equivalent to a virus I wish to make them just as sick I wish to infect them with an idea A human stain of our unified ways We all belong to the same ideal A concept that is real While everything else Seems unmistakably fake I am part of the system A cog in the machine Continually breaking down Displaying an error message No one dares to read No hand lends an ounce of oil Along we all somehow keep When in reality we should be still Motionless, unable, unwilling Life, such an implausible feeling Cumbersome Really hard to carry A weight that should be Burdened by none Difficult to deal Impossible to conceal Everyone should know And if they don’t Then ignorance is bliss I wish I could be so dumb I wish I could care much less But my god of ruin gave me Such an unwanted gift No one would ever dare ask No one would ever dare want But regardless of that here I am Living, seeing, being cumbersome The weight is at most times unbearable… Cumbersome Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2013 |