A poem of lost words

by οβροχοποιός

1

a poem of lost words

no poets behind it
no readers
a poem of nothing
to sleep to forget to kill

the meaning

a poem barking outside
the blind dog in the abyss
all poets now clean and dead
too tired to dream
too much of everything

no voices
no scents and touches
like the poems should ever be
like the nights should ever be
a poem of lost words
that lets you
live fuck die

alone.

2

woke up inside my beer
swimmer of the froth
for once
watching the worlds from inside
them dizzy and droned and scared

I am a sober man
walker on the reddish path
behind the glass highlight the limits

what they ask
is what they get
a bit disguised and transformed

aint no pity
they go for it, days in and days out
outlast my beer

my sobriety will fall
somehow a spell
to drone in shallow
amongst my kind
embraced my colleagues

I am a sober man
on a naked breeze
let the beer telling me
that my beer will cease.

3

said I  am blind denying

the world

its grace and wonders

got a point here, no use to doubt it
for them I am what my look looks
no escape, no excuses

got no blame for them, ain’t time to spare on rage and pity
I guess they judge the way they ‘re judged
the way they wound been wounded
giving their worlds a bit more spinning

its normal,
its ok,
we ‘re both thirst for blood and dramas
perfectly right ‘bout the facade
perfectly wronged of meaning

maybe, keeping my corner dark, unseen
feeding the dog, drinking my wine, I am the rosiest man ever crossed the ashes

they won’t ever know, perhaps they shouldn’t
there is no honesty between beasts
of any sort and caliber
can’t look but roamin’ ghosts
trying to exchange the unexchangeable

its ok, of course, its ok

4

trying to communicate myself
through words
tones of words and catchy phrases
words, my painkiller, my placebo
tools to raise up the walls
words, my words
ending yawning years old
sold my soul for a penny
in quest for eloquence
meaning nothing to noone
neither to you
neither to my dog
neither to the walls
the worms are here
tic toc upon the polished wood
don’t wait for an inside answer
tic toc, tic tock,
marking me a dead man
six feet under cover’d with barren words

hopping in another life
if not me, someone else
got a chance to remain silent

5

Another what if night
trying to spot the difference
the one like dried blood
the other a scent of intangibles
a thousand ifs to bear
too heavy to walk, too light to still
miscalculate the point
what I ever got is this dawn
a wound on my arm
and the mist across the fields beneath the mountain

Its enough, for now, its ok. Somehow we can walk this way$

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