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by Andrew S Adams

all he wanted was his love,
his forty acres and a mule,

and so he bet the house on the land
and now he's got nothing but his bones;

his impermanence is showing;
peaking out from under a faded
baseball cap, errant brown hairs from
every which way atop those
sunken green eyes that practically
beg you to find a means
to justify his end;

one last bit of proof
that yes, there is
compassion in the world

because so far, he's only found
that everyone united
in their loneliness does not
mean that they all suddenly
have some shoulder to
cry on;

it just means
a few thousand tears
and no clavicles;

for every million sad sack tortured poets
there are roughly ten people who are
available to give a damn;
and the demands that are suddenly
transferred on to these unfortunately
compassionate will turn the unfortunately
compassionate into another bunch
sad sack tortured poets;

until there's no one left to listen
and the air is polluted with every single
conceivable rumination there could
ever possibly be on the subject of loneliness;

there is no forty acres and
there is no mule.


Author's Note: scattershot emo poetry! yay!

Posted on 08/20/2007
Copyright © 2024 Andrew S Adams

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Jared Fladeland on 08/20/07 at 03:33 PM

this reminds me of one of the common american themes (not calling your poem common, but the theme), of the connection between a man and the land. how owning land is the measure of your life. Lord knows, my grandparents and ancestors measured themselves by how much land they owned, how they survived off the land. and how that desperate need for land can blind some people and destroy them (much of theatre drama from the early 1900s were tragic in nature and dealt with a man's connection to the land).. good stuff

Posted by Bradd Howard on 08/22/07 at 03:55 AM

emo or not (debatable) :) it tugs at heart strings and is well written. Loved the 7th stanza I've often thought that there are not enough people in the world who are going to care about my angst. thanks for the words my friend

Posted by S. Pelham Flood on 09/22/08 at 04:57 AM

the forty acres and the mule...and loneliness. oh the measures of self-worth and the paper we create new ones on...

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