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The Cure
by Daniel PetersonMy old sense became a nuisance
the day I first realized
that you passed me by.
The past buys me a reason
to commit this mental treason
in sane resentment
of the growing sentiment inside.
Insane attacks of panic and pain
outgain the facts
when I begin believing
the best is better left behind.
This old attrition,
war of living,
is nutrition for the games people play
or the games that play people
'til blue in the face
and black in the eye.
We run hope up the flagpole
'til hope flags again,
and Folds like a hand
that's Bent in prayer,
for closure, for innocence,
an end to despair. 08/19/2004 Author's Note: More fun with word play.
Posted on 08/19/2004
Copyright © 2026 Daniel Peterson
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 08/21/04 at 08:07 PM Magnificent poetry, that in my opinion can and will go down in history as a classic example of longing and regret. Wish I had written this...glad you did. |
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