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A poem about writing via my own sense of being, logic and emotion |
Two Words by Keaton Foster These hands, This man, That person, A child. As one, Same difference. Born alive, Raised deprived, Stuck between. I’m here, Nowhere else, Nothing more. Two words In addition, None less. I’ll guess I’m wrong, Not right. I might, I’ll fight. Me, myself, And I. Making sense? Not much, Almost never. People say, Often exclaim, He’s crazy, Somehow lazy. Boring mantras, Infernal logic. Crying wolf, No truth. These tales, How could? What should? This child, Turned boy, Made man, A scam. No one, Not one, Livable life Could be, Has been, So bad. Telling words, Spreading ideas. In between This person, This monster Does reside. Blatant realities, Exercised dualities, Filling pages, Leaving behind Feelings expressed. Heavy stones, Sunken depths. No regrets, Much less. Making sense, Simple request. I’ll try, I’ll live, Then die. These words, Eternal flowers, Planted deep, So high, Quite low, Indeed grow. Beyond me, Beyond us, Escapism thus. All truth, Nor lies. Two words: Everything is, Nothing not. A man, A child, A person Made wild. A creature, Less features, Darkness inside, Blackness outside. Simple words, Complicated weapons, Dueling intentions. Listen here, Quite clear, Apropos really. I’ve known, Clearly understood. Two words, Nothing more, Little less. Live life, Die trying. Wordy weapons, Wisely inflicted… Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2008-2021 |