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The Endless East
by V. Blakeand the trees, man...
i used to think they'd go on forever.
remember the moon in the rearview?
orange as a washed-out bloodstain, it was.
and that smile at the corners of your mouth--
the one that seemed like it was sparring with your eyes
for want of a moment that might outlast the view.
the carolinas couldn't hold us.
ya can't live on sunsets alone,
and every one of these words is a sad excuse for trying.
i never wanted to believe
that the best love we'd ever know
was the one we settled for...
or at least, it never felt that way to me.
01/23/2011 Author's Note: Started and finished in 5 minutes. Tried not to overthink it.
Posted on 01/23/2011
Copyright © 2024 V. Blake
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Ava Blu on 01/23/11 at 02:55 PM This has a different feel to it and I love it. I think you wrote about my life without realizing it. heh |
| Posted by Linda Fuller on 01/23/11 at 04:23 PM You've tapped into something good here. |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 01/23/11 at 05:03 PM ...[put me on-report: i am stealing the following line:...'orange as a washed-out bloodstain'...genius. i'm also take the rest of the pome because, well, just because...my reason? if you can't build it, steal it! bwhahahahaha. totally love the poetics. |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 01/23/11 at 09:12 PM Pretty impressive what you can commit to paper (so to speak) in five minutes. Powerhouse stuff. |
| Posted by Anita Mac on 01/24/11 at 05:14 AM 5 minutes... You're pretty phenomenal, Mr. Blake. I do believe the not-over-thinking worked to your advantage, because I wouldn't change a word of this. |
| Posted by Therese Elaine on 01/28/11 at 07:59 PM Charlie always steals the best stuff...this has the brevity of a classic cinema moment, and the beat of smokey barroom ruminations, and the aesthetics of Dylan and Waits and Americana escapism...just a beautiful bit of writing. |
| Posted by A. Reed on 01/30/11 at 08:31 AM When it's real it's real, and I find honesty better than pretentiousness. |
| Posted by Roger J Kenyon on 02/03/11 at 10:14 AM Hell of a poem man. Right there and down to earth. |
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