Tale Of A Poet Behind The 8 Ball

der arme Poet / the poor poet

der arme Poet / the poor poet (Photo credit: pittigliani2005)

You lock yourself in a dark room,

at this point, it is of no point,

that what if it is a sunny day.

Let it rain instead, you thought.

 

Phone rang, doorbells as well,

neither one would worth answering.

Closing in on all,

’twas such a good plan, to not plan.

 

It was not all like this back then,

when you could still see green patches,

when you could still see sunrise,

when you could still feel security.

 

Regrets, so much, so unbearable.

What if I could turn it all back,

that question you cannot stop asking.

‘Buy’ had became ‘Bought’.

 

Spend, spending, spent.

Just like tenses, tales of time,

an indisputable timeline.

A lesson well learned indeed.

 

For the hundredth time, perhaps,

plenty tried to reach into your thick shell.

Finally, though, you answered,

“Leave me alone, my wallet is empty.”

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About D.C. Fischer

Dwayne C. Fischer is my pseudonym. I am a writer who writes to share and to deliver my words to the public. I believe that through words, it is more efficient to deliver messages because words are shields from discrimination and prejudice. Words are also the one and only weapon that can penetrate the thick scull of ignorance.

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