Birthday

I sit in front
hourly of all the
blank and empty 
power while the
steamy streets
drip ice.
I have to look
for things to do
with optics, audio,
word, and eyes 
past the white curtain.
Aging way beyond
uselfulness, the jokes
I play on myself
keep me alive
instead of money.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2013

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Be the first to comment on this poem. Encourage this poet.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace