Recently, I have been making my poor friends suffer with my incessant (and if I'm honest, I might as well add, disproportionate) whinging about the undependablity of anything in the world, so, when I finally replied with a "Oh I am doing quite well!" to a "How are you doing?" email. I think I could almost hear a sigh of relief from the other end. I couldn't however let anyone think that the world has become any bit fairer, it's just that I had turned more stoic, so I shot back with a poem:
I smell perfection
In my imperfect life
In my random losses
And my random prize
In my changing habits
And new days and nights
The losses are not too big to bear
The prizes don’t bother my pride
My life’s pieces
I could have picked better
I think
But these work as well as mine
A poem full of true emotion, which I am sure my friend couldn't appreciate at all. He replied with some euphemism about artistic sides and what not. So, to him I present him, this Great Poem
I smell perfection
In my imperfect life
In my random losses
And my random prize
In my changing habits
And new days and nights
The losses are not too big to bear
The prizes don’t bother my pride
My life’s pieces
I could have picked better
I think
But these work as well as mine
A poem full of true emotion, which I am sure my friend couldn't appreciate at all. He replied with some euphemism about artistic sides and what not. So, to him I present him, this Great Poem
A Great Poem
This is a great poem.
How I suffer!
How I suffer!
How I suffer!
This is a great poem.
Full of true emotion.
-- Gavin Ewart
No comments:
Post a Comment