Four a.m. Poem
I hear the cry and wonder
is this a devil-bird calling me?
My mind is blown, my body withered
is this what it means to be free?
I shouldn't be this old at my age
I shouldn't be so terribly alone
I should hold a crown of glory
and a woman I could call my own
if I died tomorrow
would it really mean that much?
Would I leave any with any sorrow
would those I loved forget my touch?
They say what matters is what you will think on your deathbed
they say that is what matters the most
what the fuck do they want me to think of
when I'm seconds from being a ghost?
So many things have left me blindsided
so many losses so many fears
the loss of friends and family
are what now fuels my tears
so perhaps you shouldn't love anyone
if you are to be true to what you shall become
you will leave them anyhow in your last breath
and only the pain will live on
Hidden
This is the place I've chosen
Chosen to hide and stay away from all of them
One time, many millions of years ago
I would have done anything to be among those people
You know them, you see them every day
When you step out to cross the street they block your way
They are driving their sport/luxury cars and nothing matters
Certainly not your life though they know blood spatters
I was young once, I had their chances
I even once had their women at their dances
Something happened, something magical
Though the only magic really was black
I started to see things different, ideas came to me
That made sense only to me and wouldn't let me free
Somehow it seemed everyone knew what had happened
Somehow they took me to that place
Don't go there I tell you, they won't make you whole
They make you a monster and take away all that you know
It's that place past the freeway that takes you home to your dinner
It's that stone and brick complex that makes you a sinner
But first forget all about that place so cruel and so dark
With all decorations so bland and so stark
Think that if you write down a few words about healing
You can one day be on a pill that will restore all your feeling
And maybe if you can set some money aside
You won't be like me, only wanting to hide
Leif N. Gregersen II
November 5, 2011
Michelle Poem
One time
not very long ago
I worked with a young woman
with the same name as my sister
she was kind
friendly
she had red hair
and was lovely
I thought for a while
after spending time with her
I would like to spend more
time with her
I didn't get the chance really
stiff competition out there
for pretty redheads
who are friendly
then one day
I saw her on the bus
only she wasn't there in person
she was a photograph of herself
still very pretty
I like to tell people that story
sometimes I think
even if I didn't
that I have some claim on other's fame
maybe one day I will write a poem about her
and they will put it on the bus
take the poetry route they call it
then she will see my name
and not know who I ever was
though she sees herself
in the lines
of the poem