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Hayden Shreeve Poem
It always rains in my hometown,
The clouds are kind enough to wash what they can away
The town cut out my tongue,
It grew back sharper and quicker than the one they stole.
I walk by the river,
Still blackened by the ones it took,
When thoughts fall upon a deaf ear,
I begin to whisper.
I care little for your Tupperware regime,
I care little for your barbecue tyranny,
One should always give way to real men.
Home, is where the heart is.
The fruit, plentiful,
It decays in the street,
By the grocer, by the police station,
By the school that keeps 'em comin'.
A species of their own, that Ritalin race.
At noon the fog lifts,
At two it sets again,
I do breakfast at four,
It is the most important meal of the day.
Copyright © Hayden Shreeve | Year Posted 2012
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Details |
Hayden Shreeve Poem
Father, Listen,
Did life not turm put as you had planned?
The grass not greener, Your rivers dammed?
How was it, that you wound up here?
Moved by hate, Consumed in fear.
Father, Listen,
As I go grey, I wonder will I die this way?
A life of waste, To dwell on rage,
You won't find peace, at your old age!
Father, Listen,
I feared you as a child,
Your unkind temper, It made me wild,
I know my Mother is hard to please,
This sad existence, Now my disease.
Father, Listen,
For just once to me,
The apple, It does, Fall close to tree,
I dead the things that I have learnt,
My wells now dry, My bridges, Burnt.
Father, Listen,
Just come and see,
Just how much I am like thee,
I think I'll rest, Just for a while,
For just one more hour, In denial
Copyright © Hayden Shreeve | Year Posted 2012
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