Sunday, August 14, 2011

Passive.

You'll be gone, disappeared
in a couple of days
whilst your tune satiates.

If thats why
its falling in piece,
then this whole melody
of need
we succumbed to
is excused as well.

For its unequal yet,
a reciprocated set
murdered in jest,
nuggets dusted
dismissed
with distress
singing in comparison
to an overbearing display
of besottedness.

Maybe then we'd find
how alluring it became with
disdain where we started
while sentiment reign'd.

Therefore, and
because we're a long way,
celebrate a night of naivety
where I'll rinse all gratitude
and you dry us of worry.

3 comments:

Witness said...

Janet picks up her fortune cookie,
Then puts it down, turns to her friend:
"Don't bank too much on youth. Your rookie
Season is drawing to an end.
John, things we would -when young- not think of,
Start to make sense when, on the brink of
Thirtydom, we pause to scan
What salves and salads cannot ban,
The earliest furrows on our faces,
The loneliness within our souls,
Our febrile clawing for mean goals,
Our programmed cockfights and rat races,
Our dreary dignity, false pride,
And hearts stored in formaldehyde

- Vikram Seth, The Golden Gate

Jalap. said...

How is that related?

Witness said...

I quoted this as both this and your poem give rise to a feeling of melanchloic nostalgia-or that's what i felt:)