Poetry

Purpose

I sit here instead of sleeping

The music of the gladiator mingles

With the sound of viscous bubbles

And the smell of spoiled bones

While she whines for the

Sake of annoyance and spite.

Reading great words

I am left with an inadequacy

And a craving for something of substance.

Desire is drowned by the humid hum

Of an existence that means absolutely

Nothing to someone and less to me.

If I have nothing to give

If I have nothing that moves

Me to that place that is finitely

Infinite, what then is my purpose?

To listen to the mind-less scream

Of a voice-less silence full

Of meaningless shit and shallowness?

There is a vacuum that holds

What I seek and it is sealed with

Fragile perceptions that mock and despise me.

Is there nothing sacred left that

I cannot defile and worship with my

Arrogance and ignorance?

Must I continue to keep up this

Three dimensional charade for

The sake of something that

I scorn?



Copyright 12-17-08 Amy Bishop
All rights reserved
Not to be published without consent of Amy Bishop