I have so much rage
At the futility of life
I turn another page
And all I see is strife
I call myself a different name
But ever inside am the same

I have so much hate
At life's hope sapped world
I want to concentrate
But feel so often curled
Around in circles tighter
I cannot get out I am not a fighter

I have so much sadness
That eats away the life inside
I am told I should have gladness
But have no ticket for that ride
No one can see inside I am broken
No ride on joy's train for i have no token

I have so much perspective
On life's futile ironic wit
But the clear objective
I guess get's lost in transit
Barriers grow bigger and stronger
Until then life is no longer

I have so much hurt
But others have so much more
Crushed ice "Would you like dessert?"
And on does insanity pour
The burden of the world and my behavior
Who is to save me except a saviour?

I have too much
I want some more
Just a touch
So I can store
This useful futile life of mine
Inside a poem oh so fine

02/18/2003

Author's Note: i even see my poems as a waste of time, and have no idea why i continue to write. habit i guess.

Posted on 02/18/2003
Copyright © 2024 Oliver Drewman