Time is What Time Was...He Was What He'll Be

This poem was excellent. It was a little weird as you said, but overall it was interesting. I like the use of imagery, the aspects of a drifter, a drinker--someone who needs to move, who has nothing left, who cares not about the world. I get this weird little poem. I like it and I would like to see more like this one. Good job.

Heya Story, Gsp here, and I'll be your reviewer for today! Or one of them. I don't know how many other reviews you'll get. But you can be happy knowing that I was one of them.

He is complacent.

Suppose he’s just
The man on the road,
Tells himself he’s got nobody
To help him, and
There’s not really anywhere
To go,
Is there?
So he won’t go.
They tell him he’s trash,
So he litters the road.

He is complacent.

Is he nothing but
The bottom of a bottle,
The breather of a rhythmic
Routine set to time with
His truck’s choking throttle,
An empty
Bottle?
So the engine revs.
They tell him he can’t drive,
So he’s ready to crash.

He is complacent.

I have to wonder why
He lets them break him down,
Takes his bitter pills
That they hand to him and say -
They say it makes him better;
We know
So much better.
He will finally swallow,
And feel it deprive.


He’ll be complacent.
He won’t know why.