A flow poem about serving a purpose when I should know of another, better way to survive. |
-Waiting In The Cold- by Keaton Foster Out In Back again Unsure Unclear What to do And why I wanna live But I also wish to die Reasons So inclined Life Oh’ what a hell I wish I could Somehow Someway Say just a bit more I’ve spoken enough Mountains upon mountains Of silent words Understand Dare do I pretend I don’t really Facing causality Headlong I could be wrong But I also Could be quite right Oh’ the chance is great Too much to resist These hands Stiff and frostbitten This mind Sharp and unhinged This body My temple Slowly to be dismantled Torn down To make some kind of space Something better always waits Words I will never set to waste Each one More important Than any one before Waiting in the cold I just wanna know I so wanna see Darkness believed By light, I’m intrigued In between A hell of a space Nothing set out of place I am no fool Especially my own I know what I’m saying There is not one Never a word Penned without a purpose Each line stands alone Each one designed So perfectly sublime I have quite a gift Such a gift Has cost me everything Those who love Those who understand At one time Or another Have fled from me Nowhere Are they now seen I am alone It’s so very cold I guess Heck I know That I Could go back inside But I know that I won’t Waiting in the cold Is where I belong Where I am true To myself And what I have allowed myself To be all about Writing like this Takes observation When others would Be so inclined to find Some sort of a peace of mind I of course would not I am doing what I must A hell of a thing that is Doing what one must… Waiting In The Cold Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2013 |