Post by Prophet on Mar 29, 2011 1:21:35 GMT -8
Into Oblivion
So, here I go,
back in the flow
forget the rhymes,
you have plenty of time,
they need not hear every
meandering thought anyway.
Television sucking out your
creativity with the thought
of just one more show?
Poems left unfinished,
Not knowing how they’ll go,
Trying to find new and
interesting things to say,
not letting your best
phrases be wasted on
some piece of crap
you’ll come to regret.
Let’s forget the excuses,
and create with what you
know.
Find the right way to write,
“How, when it’s all been said?”
you ask yourself pretentiously.
Oh, what’s to understand in
this confusing existence anyhow?
Just lazy, out of work dreams,
of being great,
far from the path
you have cut for yourself.
Oh, I’m busy with just
one more sitcom, and commercials
telling me what’ll be on next.
With employment to apply for,
and a life left to unpack,
and the nagging drug called
television calling me back for
just one more fix,
my brain flat-lining
and numbing within my skull,
which lies back, like
a rock cast to the
depths of a shallow pond.
If you’re not true to yourself,
forget the shallow conquests of
impressing others.
Smile, she likes you,
and you know it, but
you haven’t the words
to even face her.
As others laugh at you,
not caring to feel,
when you cast away their
scarred past into the abyss.
Left alone, with power,
yet powerless with emotions
submerged, wallowing
in self pity.
Oh, start anew,
clean up the mess,
and send your life spiraling
in a new direction.
All the money and pride,
parties and drugs,
and lust filled ambition
cannot hide the longing
of the fiery passion
that burns within.
Oh, clichés, they abound,
and we’ve all heard it before,
but have we heard it in
exactly the same way?
So submit to the flow,
and you can run the show,
collapsing the void into
oblivion.
So, here I go,
back in the flow
forget the rhymes,
you have plenty of time,
they need not hear every
meandering thought anyway.
Television sucking out your
creativity with the thought
of just one more show?
Poems left unfinished,
Not knowing how they’ll go,
Trying to find new and
interesting things to say,
not letting your best
phrases be wasted on
some piece of crap
you’ll come to regret.
Let’s forget the excuses,
and create with what you
know.
Find the right way to write,
“How, when it’s all been said?”
you ask yourself pretentiously.
Oh, what’s to understand in
this confusing existence anyhow?
Just lazy, out of work dreams,
of being great,
far from the path
you have cut for yourself.
Oh, I’m busy with just
one more sitcom, and commercials
telling me what’ll be on next.
With employment to apply for,
and a life left to unpack,
and the nagging drug called
television calling me back for
just one more fix,
my brain flat-lining
and numbing within my skull,
which lies back, like
a rock cast to the
depths of a shallow pond.
If you’re not true to yourself,
forget the shallow conquests of
impressing others.
Smile, she likes you,
and you know it, but
you haven’t the words
to even face her.
As others laugh at you,
not caring to feel,
when you cast away their
scarred past into the abyss.
Left alone, with power,
yet powerless with emotions
submerged, wallowing
in self pity.
Oh, start anew,
clean up the mess,
and send your life spiraling
in a new direction.
All the money and pride,
parties and drugs,
and lust filled ambition
cannot hide the longing
of the fiery passion
that burns within.
Oh, clichés, they abound,
and we’ve all heard it before,
but have we heard it in
exactly the same way?
So submit to the flow,
and you can run the show,
collapsing the void into
oblivion.