weary dead
what next dear sir
coming of age is harder
than just another birthday
and passing of time...
coming of age
for some is a quiet rage
a poor decision
a triumph over self defeat
what a treat
finding out the man
you are not
but still hopeful on
the man you could be
who could wait
or willing to see
such a wasteful plea
for attention and all the rest
is that your best
or a game played
for the sake of playing
are there answers to the
questions used to sound
profound
wasteful verbage
more like garbage
than
soft
gentle
loving touches
and soothing
tones
sickened moans
as rolling over
in their grave
the weary dead
already bled
and just wanting to rest
still i try
and try
under the guise
of 3rd time charms
could do no harms
so silly the boy
deciding on a whim
as the scholar that
laid the path before
him...
To the weary dead
making a residence
in my head
bringing black torment
cold nearing depressed expression
this is my hour of a vulgar confession..
I have only myself to offer
and feel more of life than should bother..
I want and need as
every heart seems
I hope and wait
and would wait
forever if to have
a place to endeavor
this passion burning as a fever..
Weary and dead is not my concern
so leave me now never to return
for I too will rest in death
soon enough and can't
worry further
of your rolling bones.