Poem - Gods of the Last benches

Gods of the Last Bench

Sitting on the rear corner bench,
Amid my own daydream,
Random sketches on my notebook,
Never quite made up their sheen.

Some were names
And some were numbers,
Shallow did they really seem?
But they, alas, were my only option
To get this load off the beam.



I tried, I tried, and I tried to swallow
But still, but still I could not see.
And even though I’d love to follow,
These scribbling make a merry me.



And so did the same, my fellow bench men
For their residence could not be seen.
But bigger a reason was withheld,
With the speaker, that a scream.

She spat and sang, Oh good dictator,
As if one was so so keen.
And we, embraced in deluge of thoughts
Never really knew what she did mean.



I tried, I tried, and I tried to swallow
But still, but still I could not see.
And even though I’d love to follow,
These scribbling make a merry me.

Thank You