May 31, 2011
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It’s Nothing, Really
My mother was a virgin, I was born in her herb garden
and my father, a fine mechanic, seemed to be her only friend.
I had Jesus sprinkled on my head, God granted me a pardon
and if I abstain from sin then I can live life without endBut now I know it’s all a lie, told with the grace of god
to encourage me to love without vain, selfish expectations
to let me be who I really am, everyone, a friendly nod
and let life do its damnedest, I can deal with complicationsthe only foil to my existence
is a passive, strong resistance
to allow me my truisms or blues
in an awkward manner of speaking
with small portions of me leaking
into light like it’s fast-breaking news
my truth isn’t really mine to choosea poet doesn’t need to check his facts
with research or any kind of study
he just tosses his words like a stone in a pond
and then sees if the water gets muddy
Comments (7)
damned poets. Almost like philosophers. Trying to make sense out of nothing.
and nothing out of sense. JUST KIDDING BEN.
actually, you nailed the last stanza.
@BenelliMan - nothing makes sense. I say that a lot. but the good part is, nothing’s all I’ve got
@complicatedlight - sense means nothing. I think therefore I am. whenever I’m not thinking, I don’t think I give a damn
maybe, but how could you tell?
@complicatedlight - just a gut feeling. could be gas
@Amoralis - ”nothing makes sense. I say that a lot. but the good part is, nothing’s all I’ve got” Wpw.. That was actually awesome. That line is motivational!
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