Jig-Saw

Look into the pits I have for eyes and tell me,
Tell me if you see it,
The golden monster,
that feeds on the soul’s dance to life’s music.

Alas my music is gone,
And all that can be heard now is the dying sigh of a chord,
Of a sad composition.

Feel my wrist and tell me,
Tell me if you feel it,
The rush of the river,
hot and near swelling.

Alas the river is dried,
And all that remains is the dirt and the drench,
Of the puddle of grey.

I was born near dead,
Half -Dead to the ones that maybe matter,
Half-alive to the ones that should matter.
Destined to live in shame,
Paying the price of a night or a day perhaps months of lust and maybe love.

The piece that doesn’t belong,
I will never know how to be whole,
I will never fit in your jig saw.

 

Todays best new poem was written by Tonymonk.

 
 

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