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But A Whimper

by V. Blake

i guess this is what we are now.
attending pointless fucking functions
for people we barely know.
smiling through clenched teeth;
pretending we give a shit.

we are become ritual:
the shuffling of polished feet;
the putting-of-things-on-calendars.
grown-ups,
we used to say.

today i learned of plans
we had for may of next year,
and it sounded like gears
screeching into rotation
behind the horizon.

i am stagnating.
you are too.
we will spill out of these invisible holes,
until all that's left
is the next generation,
volunteered by proxy
for this boring fucking war.

listen:
these are the death-knells for lives well-lived,
or close enough.

09/07/2013

Author's Note: Small towns have big appetites.

Posted on 09/07/2013
Copyright © 2024 V. Blake

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 09/08/13 at 11:27 AM

while everyone is waiting for the world to expire, with a bang or whimper or a mix of the two, the world has already passed them by in a hearse, for anyone to care if and where and how it will end, what never truly took hold, took root or came to fruition in the tallest branches of their beings. hence the incessant skirmishes and base wars declared to prove nothing, other than to punish others and by such virtue punish themselves for only having the gumption, as you say to go through the motions of caring and not actually coming to terms with the genuine article.

Posted by Sarah Wolf on 09/12/13 at 08:45 PM

I hear you

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