Young Writers Society

I saw the poem title The Inspiration of a single word here and that spawned this... It's not finished yet, very much a work in progress, especially the last one.

CL

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The Inspiration of a single word

It’s so completely unorthodox to say but life is what you make
of it, and dreams laid at your feet are often trampled
signs on the motorway often signal the end of the world
like Spark’s elevator doors, and knights in white satin
smoke the replicas of chivalry in backalleyways far from the cultivated
public. Fashion is only in the now these days whether halter-tops and
mini-skirts fade, it doesn’t matter, for everything fades, Robert is our only
mystic feathered in Frost. static on the airways pounds like dentist drills into
malleable brains and dreams offered are most often stolen before they
can be confiscated again. speed is the only condition or reality, how fast or how slow is the
key to vitality. the inspiration of a single word is all I have to save me from the heaven which will most likely be an Enterprise Spaceship, lemon yellow, complete with levels of the screaming forgotten dead. It’s so completely unorthodox to say but life is what you make of it, perception is the key.


black
cold
dank
dark
erodes sleep in high flying places
and mork and mindy is on my tv
reminding me of couchridden potato days
of teen adolescence and cups of truckstop coffee
brought home to warm freezing hands
of hesitant kisses and passion fights
and the pretender is somewhere in Africa
searching for his soul mate
I’m just here trying to retrace your fated footsteps
that crossed my threshold long ago
its
black
cold
dark
dank
in the far out seeing places of consciousness
where necessity licks at conformity and only
need lights fires, and knowledge is faintly historical
law and order in on my tv now
reminding me of too many nights spent studying in
little light, no it made our eyes red and puffy
of deep conversation on right and wrong on justice and faith
and is there really a god?
or have we just made up the whole thing like Voltaire said
only proving the reaches of human imagination
and curiosity
black
cold
dank
dark
is this all a dream or some crazy man’s fantasy
playing out it my head every day
it’s not like we’re lost, but the journey has been exhausting
having to fight ourselves as well as others
to help them see, to help them fight
we wont die away here not us
that would be inconceivable
as inconceivable as that little Sicilian man’s death was
when he swilled iocane from within the screen
we will go on living, questioning too
is there some master plan? And if so are
we part of it? And if freedom of mind is as worthy as the soul
why don’t we soar?


I’m petrified you’ll say no
you helped me so much with
all their lies that maybe you help with this…
You see I have the problem
and no it’s not too bad
but I want to fix it
I hate it when things are left broken and unfixed
You taught me so many things during those
lazy nights in the library
perusing chem notes and professing our
wildest fantasies in French, of all things
But this problem
which itches at my brain
like a scab that I want to pick at and pick at
till it bleeds, flowing like the Ganges on a good day
You see I think I’m in love
Yes I think I’m in love
you know all about love
don’t you
I’ve seen the list of partners you’ve had
all beautiful, lithe, blonde, and gorgeous
features that send me crawling back to my shell
I think it was the spaces between Hello and Goodbye
each day
that caught me
they could have easily been I love you’s
not “sure, I’ll help you…” or “hey I don’t get this…”
In moments together it solidified in my mind
what it would be like to really be loved
a sort of compassionate timewarp
where everything stands still and the clock
on the wall never reaches three