“People are so fucking dumb. Nobody reads anymore, nobody goes out and looks and explores the society and culture that they were brought up in. People have attention spans of 5 seconds and as much depth as a glass of water.”—David Bowie (via rollinghillsandwindmills)
I’ve stumbled upon four old poems I wrote a few months back. I will post one now, and then post another one only after I get feedback for this first poem. They seem fragmented but I’m going to post them anyways. If every work of art is never done, why withhold a piece of literature or poem from public view? If your fragments can benefit someone, then your work is complete to them. But that’s not to say you should give up on making more iterations of your work. It’s always a process.
That being said, I give you the first poem in this series of four.
Good ‘Ol Melody
I’ve been waiting for the kids to come And take pictures of the walls with cameras I’ve been waiting for the people to look at me Just so I can hear their criticism I’ve been cheering for the side that defeats the team That takes advantage of the weak and old And I’ve been calling for the sun to kill the clouds Maybe then I can lie in the grass and wait
And there were reasons that were never told to me So I went on looking at the cars and bikes And there were choices that were never made with me So I kept on snapping pictures of my friends And there were criminals all over the fucking streets So I took home every girl to silence me And then I felt like I had lost this world I seek So I set a little fire inside of me
I’ve been running in circles and eating greens ‘Cause I thought I was fighting for something Then I made it known to everyone in the world That my views were mine and mine alone Fortunately I cannot remember a thing I guess that happens when you rob a bakery And all those years shopping for the right shoes Have lead to this very moment
A country so apart Given bottles upon bottles of broken glass And shielded by the remains of the dead Those living cannot survive without their brains
More importantly than those who suffer now Are those who have fought back with revenge And who knows what that really entails Just another newspaper left alone