These scrawled notes

Like some lines

In a poorly written play

Are my collective to life.

What I think is an upswelling

Is more of an upheavel.

More words to come,

More thoughts, ideas unspun.

(Now where is all the fun?)

Irrevocably I pen this poem,

Just for me, just for you.

In some Kierkegaardian sense,

It makes perfect sense to me.

I want to run through my nightmares

To the place where the sun shines,

And the world is sunny and bright.

I want to run into walls,

Sing out loud, howl at the moon.

Have I lost my mind?

It is too soon for me.

08/19/2008

Posted on 08/19/2008
Copyright © 2025 Joe Cramer