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For poets who want unrestricted constructive criticism. This is NOT a vanity workshop. If you do not want your poem seriously critiqued, do not post here. Constructive criticism only. PLEASE Only Post One Poem a Day!!!
7/3/2010 12:49:53 AM
James Burns Posts: 2
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Me, Myself, and I “There are things that concern us,” Consensed my “Selves” in earnest ““We” fear that “I” have succumbed to delusion” “And after careful deliberation It is with much hesitation That we choose to delineate upon this confusion” “Fact is your intuition Is riddled with superstition And your judgment leaves much to be desired” “So you leave us no recourse Don’t push us to use force” It is then that the “I” was summarily fired I exclaimed “By whose authority?”, Response, “Rule of majority” “The “Myself” and the “Me,” (forthwith the “We”) are experts in our field” “And with much technique and time And some forays into the sublime The nature of your malady will be revealed” “So to keep yourself from having a fit Step back and just calm down a bit” “We,” they said, “certainly have this under control” “We swear this won’t hurt at all” Then I felt my inhibitions fall Still I said a prayer to God that He keep my soul
You know, fact is I do feel off axis As evidenced by such parapraxis As this prose that I, (or is it “Us”), seek to pen And with my mind feeling numb I finally chose to succumb And allow the “Me” and the “Myself” to begin And then came questions in a flurry Answer, answer and please do hurry Not one moment of respite did they give They pushed and they prodded With every “T” crossed and “I” dotted My mind felt like it had gone through a sieve And all this psychoanalysis Is causing my mind paralysis The questions, can you stop with the questions please “Yes, oh yes indeed I do believe we have what we need To make an attempt to identify your unknown neuroses” “Your, (Or “Our”), symptoms seem to intermit And the fact that “You’re,” (“We’re”), a hypocrite Tis no wonder we’re having such problems with diagnosis” Then “I” had an idea so grand To dispense with this at my own hand A self-inflicted coup de grace would be my prognosis
So while the “Me” and the “Myself” squabbled With courage newly cobbled “I” spotted the dresser drawer and made my run With fingers fiercely fumbling Whilst they continued grumbling “I” produced from the depths of the drawer a shiny gun And now my life, though ill-fated Was soon to be vindicated This would affect us all equally the same Would be no myself or me No you, him, us, or we But an inclusive all would be to blame It took me a moment to figure Out the safety on the trigger Then “I,” (or “Us”), prepared to do the dirty deed Then the barrel found my temple And as it settled into the dimple A still small voice did my “selves” choose to heed Hence a moment of clarity Harkened me to posterity And I thought what a legacy to leave behind “Can’t we all find a way To save this miserable day And avoid a broken body for someone to find”
And then deep within my soul I felt and heard a simple drum roll And the differing sides of me just subsided And with my mind now as one I worked to get this all undone The whole business of this stuff I derided And tis now true of fact That I survived this ordeal intact And lived to raise my face unto the sky And here now as it ends I find I’ve made good friends With the “Me”, the “Myself,” and the “I”
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