The putrid stench of rotting dreams filled the air.
i was desperately not seeking Susan . . .
unless her Breast were full of sunshine and hope
i gingerly tiptoed through the multicultural waste
there lying in the gutter
diseased, undernourished, starved, abandoned and unloved . .
i saw the faces of the generations that would never come
yet . . .
there they lie
there were no street cleaners or maintenance persons or the such
All, just as i, aimlessly mitigated life the best they could . . .
trying in desperation
not to touch accidentally another’s failure,
yet cheering them on.
No one had a hand full of magic . . .
there were no breaths of clean unspoiled fresh air to help
nor fuel dreams for our tomorrows
we could not ventilate the endless scene of debauchery
from our abysmal memories of failures and let downs.
I still shudder at the thought of that dark place
which i embrace so sacredly in my mind.
But . . . i have some advice . . .
as do we all ! . . . ha ha ha . . .
but who wishes to hear what has been heard ?
over and over again
It is just another collection of syllables and intent mixed together in a soup . . .
that none can digest . . it must be Vegetable.
As i ambled down the rocky Cobblestone path of my past failed exploited dreams, i glimpsed a reflection . . . of someone who looked like me . .. was it a mirror of me, a picture . . . was this me past, present or future . . . no it was a collection of all the “Me”s.
I saw and had to face my forgotten enigmatic dreams i had put aside . . . how did i file them ? . . . impractical ? . . or was it unreasonable ? . . .
Well, is not that what dreams are ? I saw my fear of today . . . right here at my side keeping me company, making sure i did not discover any unnecessary courage to reach out and try something i might succeed at. I mean, after all, are i not comfortable here complaining and full of this despair i choose to hold on to ? Should i reach out and try something untried? i might fail . . . or fall . . . then i would have to get my Ego and Pride cleaned once again, not to mention all that explaining i would have to do to others.
Growing weary i searched for a place of rest,
there are none . . . so i clung to my delusions . . .
“I am not Tired” . . . “I need no rest” . . . “I understand what is happening”
yeah . . . you too ?
Just the same here we are . . . and somehow, they painted this picture . .
and named it what ? . . .Life ? . . .Hope ?
Bullshit . . . more like it . . .
Let’s all drop some Acid and take and extended Trip in to la la land . . .
or we could just fulfill the Prophesy of the “Right” . . .
and just kill all the Mockingbirds . . . cause they don’t sing no more !
so much for the Putrid Stench . . . it was me !
© 26 July 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.