Category Archives: lost

Howdy, howdy. Got a new one for you folks today. Hope you like it! It’s gonna seem a little disjointed at first but it’s gotta be read slow. Let me know what you think below. Without further ado…

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Revelry

Somewhere close by

in a place that used to be,

you can still hear happy whispers in the trees.

Ghosts who love to dance and play

on paths along the way,

somewhere I lost the means

to find my way back home.

Somewhere along the winding way

i missed my chance at revelry

and now I think of that first day

when everything 

was in all things around,

but now i’ve missed

my chance at revelry

and all there is abound.

Some day I hope 

to find my way back home

and hear that precious sound.

I just hope to find my way back home.

Good morning, everyone. New poem with a motif you may just recognize. I sincerely hope y’all enjoy. Please let me know if you like it in the comments below! Without further ado…

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Were It Only That I Had an Axe

Whispers again in the wind,

back behind your ear,

around the corner,

and just out of reach.

Like the hunter in the forest,

I strive

to survive

and to thrive,

yet so lambasted as I am

by cacophonous murmurs,

I become dismayed, disarrayed…

Erstwhile duties,

now in stated dereliction,

distress one distraught mind

so taken by dalliance and drudgery

that derogation might duly develop.

And from a seed,

does a simple sprout stretch and swell

into a great tree

now casting its great shadow

across all your ancient truths.

Were it only that I had an axe,

if only to cut through the noise,

for now it feels that I

can no longer see the sky.

Good evening, compatriots. I’ve got a fun little poem for you. Try to read it as if you’re reading a storybook to a group of little kids around the campfire. Feel its somber embrace through the sad and haughty tone by which you might read it, breathe life into its hills and its valleys with macabre sensibility, drag yourself on a journey through those hopeful reverberations… or just read the damn thing with that funny little voice you have in your head. I sincerely hope you enjoy any way you choose. Without further ado…

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Stew

And so it was

that the little boy I met

in the forest

by the river

became a sad, sad, angry man

with many, many, many regrets.

~

And in his sadness,

and in his anger,

and in his regret

did the man sit.

~

The man would sit

and he would stew

until eventually

he liquefied

and he himself became a stew

inside a great, big, silver pot.

~

Others would come,

then,

to take and take

until he was all gone.

~

Except that pot never did empty,

nor did that stew ever sour.

It simply came to pass

that one might pass

on the road,

another one

whose belly seemed

just a little fuller.

Howdy folks! Haven’t posted in a bit but I hope you like the poem (even though it kinda sucks). Without further ado…

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Agency

It feels like it always did, I think.

I drink.

I’m trying to find the missing link.

I sink.

The drowned man is never dead,

for there he sleeps inside his bed,

with all the bad little things

that are just inside his head.

Whiskey in the barrel,

whiskey in the cup,

whiskey in the bottle,

whiskey in the cup.

Drink, drank, drunk.

Something in the night that makes a thump.

I cannot see,

I cannot hear,

I cannot bear to be so free.

So here I sit

and bide my time,

for it means much to me

that there be roots beneath this tree.