by buzz » Sat Apr 22, 2006 9:49 am
GenTDuke - i like the last few poems better than your first ones. Nice stuff. Keep it going man.
Here's one of mine;
I Am A Man
I am still a man. I am more of a man than I was. I am no longer free in the sense that I am now physically confined; yet I feel freer than I have for years. It is far easier to bear the burden of guilt than it is to carry the heavy load of a life which is not a life. A life which is merely going through motions and existing in a personal repression is not freedom and it is not life, or living. My crime was an occurrence. I accept responsibility but live with neither regret nor remorse, only a retrospective niggling in my head, like when you leave the house and think you’ve left the oven on. I am still a man, an I still exist. I touch nobody’s life, and no one touches mine. I read a lot. And I write sometimes too, but not to anyone. I have two photos on the wall of my cell – one of a sunrise in a north Edinburgh council estate, and one of the sun going down taken on the north west coast of Scotland. I don’t know what they symbolize, or if the depict anything other than aesthetically pleasing pictures, but I like them. My son exists only in my head. He is a part of me continuing in the world, and walking new paths. My family still write to me but I do not read their letters. My blood is that of humanity. I do not lean on them. They should feel no responsibility over my actions and accept no repercussions. My wife is a constant memory, whom I can now accept as an inevitable part of my life, and when I reached that fork in the road I can remember her smile and her warmth that made me go to her. And caused me to love her. For a while. I do not hate her. I do not blame her. I feel no bitterness or anger. I do not feel. It is better that way, for a while at least. I have shelter and a bed, and food. I have books, and paper, and pens. I am a man.
Death exists for me only in a far off but unavoidable way, although it is getting closer. I do not remember being young anymore. I only know that I was. When I get out I will most likely be in my mid fifties. I will not try to rebuild anything. I will lie low. To say that only today exists sounds clichéd but it is a sense of time known only by inmates who get through their sentence slowly but surely. Others are fuelled by far off unfulfillable hopes and dreams. I escape in the nighttime when I dream of people out of my life a long time ago but still somewhere consciously inaccessible in my head. I will not ever travel the world. I will never see the African desert, or the Himalayas. I seek not to journey nor accomplish. I only wish to be. That is enough. That is more than enough. If I wake in the morning then I have won. If my hair grows then I am still alive. If I inhale and the air goes into my lungs it feels good. I have suffered much less than some. I will suffer more but it is insignificant compared to the gift of birth and of life. At times I am happy. At others I am filled with a sense of content. They are feelings which are invaluable. They are feelings I have not felt for a long, long time.
)
no need for concern lol. I write my best stuff in a funny mood.
