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Alex Cheasty Poem
I'm writing this, because I feel like I should quit.
I feel like I should just lay down and never get up.
I feel that bliss is overrated, and joy will never find me.
When I look up at the ceiling, all it does is wind me—Up, up, and away I go (at least when up is down).
Appreciation is depreciation, as the atmosphere grows thicker.
I writhe around, but make no sound.
I have fallen down.
Help me, but I won't get up.
Leave me be and then you'll see; I'm a king without a crown.
You can find me in my mind, fighting with my thoughts.
Even contradiction seems to contradict.
I'm salt, without a lick.
A grain of truth will make me sick, but sorrow is the bile.
I thought I had my life on file, but confusion is its new name.
What happens if I do die?
Who will be left to blame?
Appreciation is depreciation, as the atmosphere grows thicker.
I writhe around, but make no sound.
I have fallen down once again.
In the end, I have no beginning.
Grab my hand and you'll understand; I'm just a king without a crown.
Years change and come and go, only this year got lost in translation.
Now even translation is lost, now there's no linguistics.
Without language, how can I speak?
How can I hear everyone else's sound, let alone my own?
The world is now mute.
There's been a failure to communicate.
Depreciation is normalcy, and the atmosphere is gone.
Now I cannot breathe and soon I'll be a corpse.
By now you know, of course, that I have fallen down and won't get up.
You tried to help me; I didn't listen.
So then you left me be.
You have always failed to see, I was sitting on my crown.
It wasn't lost, but by my side.
It's much too late.
I truly can't get up.
While you were busy reading this, I kicked my crown and died.
Copyright © Alex Cheasty | Year Posted 2018
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Details |
Alex Cheasty Poem
Beautiful, despite the lies.
Beautiful, despite the cries.
When angels fall with broken wings, the time will come for better things.
Beautiful, the loaded gun.
Still shining brighter than the sun.
The pied piper will come for everyone.
The pains, the aches; they'll soon fade away.
But now remain the scars.
What will you do?
I'd love to see, this plan of yours.
What will it be?
Copyright © Alex Cheasty | Year Posted 2018
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