Chriswren - A Poem By a Poor Person

A Poem By a Poor Person

When I feel bad about myself I like reading things that poor people wrote. The below poem is by a man who’s obsessed with aliens:

And So It Begins…

Trenches of my past,
these tears,
they burn
deep into my flesh,
face of my genes

Nostalgia,
sublime depression,
a sense of loss,
days gone by
that could not be kept
to present pace

The future,
my oyster,
lays tracks
across my grave,
a residual effect,
emotions lying in dust

(a friend’s aging photograph : cancer’s latest victory)

(a lover’s letters smothered in vacancies : once heated passions)

Loved ones,
the baby brother,
engaged… married

Mother, I was not prepared for this

Days gone by,
I am betrayed
in the present,
my mind,
lost in vacuums
of a past

Blissful times,
fresh,
young,
when last I kissed her,
that lover
in the letters.
Manuscripts of happiness

And then…
first calling,
first amendment to my being,
by entities maternal,
extraterrestrial

Warned was I…
such treasures never last,
falling to my knees

Six years,
eons… ages ago,
all has happened
in split seconds
of a sadist,
Father Time

(whiplash : nostalgia : backwash : deja’ vu)

He remains an aftertaste
in the continuum
of my time,
my space,
trench warfare
in the DNA of my race

©1999 Rick Smith