by Graham Donnachaidh
Sunday, December 28, 2003
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My past is littered with all sorts of debris...this is only one example.
what is it about saturday nights ?
why is it that my brain is fogged ?
who turned on the bright red lights ?
where does my sober tymes get logged ?
when will my path be straight ?
which fork shall I now choose ?
who’ll meet me at the gate ?
whimsical, is my eternal muse.
here in this lonely heart of mine
had I the chance to live again
heeding the chance of lyfes fine wine
how would I avoid the taste of pain ?
hence my unanswerable quips
I through the dreary day
hump baggage from far off tips
helpless....’mongst emotional decay.
down now, into the dusk of thought,
dark is the dawn on useless shore,
distance now..’ tween loving bought
doing the deal, with loveless whore...
sunup now....i’m still alive..
i’ve made it through another night
awakening.. in another low-lyfe dive
struggling through lyfes rancid shyte..
sunday sabbath...the Lords saving day,
bugger him !...he never stuck around
to hear the last bell.....or to pay
the final price...of the tolling sound...
i’m awa ...for the priest o’ a chapel god will damn me
will i be kent,
as the bad lad,
In rhyming sentiment.
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|Reviewed by *********** ********** (Reader)
|Soul searching.....I found this sad.....and yet so wonderfully written...Happy New Year to you Graham.........ty, Dani|
|Reviewed by Lady Peg (Reader)
|Well done Grhamn I like your poetry!|