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Thursday
May 31, 2012
4:54am EDT


  >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Adult >> ID #1846029  |   Show DetailsPrinter Friendly Page Tell A Friend
Here I Go
A weird poem about writing and about flow and how I see what I do as a need to be met.
Rated:
E
by
Avg Rating: (6)

- Here I Go- by Keaton Foster

*Vignette5* *Vignette5* *Vignette5* *Vignette5* *Vignette5*

Her I go
With the flow
Silly I know
These rhymes
Lyrical knives
Easily thrown.

Piecing into the depths
Of each every soul
Of course that all depends
On whether or not
Anyone is reading
If not then such efforts
Are certainly wasted.

Misguided brilliance
Or so it has been said
By who, absolute morons
People that are as dumb as rocks
Who have no desire to think
Beyond the skin of their nose.

Lemmings looking for a cliff
Such words point the way
Certain doom is all about perspective
One man's pile of shit
Is another's paradise
One person's end
Is another's new beginning.

A changing of the guards
In a prison devoid of walls
Many are lacking the keys
That go to the cages
That keep them confined
Within the prison of their mind.

Here I go
This is all that I know
All that I can do
Freedom from ideas
That won't leave me alone
Escapism in its purest form.

Sometimes I feel as if I am
Standing in Piccadilly square
Not wearing any underwear
I am unable to hide my fallacies
Exposed for all to see
Naked in absolute truth.

I didn't ask for this
No sane person ever would
Of course sanity of lack thereof
Is a matter of understanding
And unlike most
I understand all too well.

Such understanding gives me an edge
An endless surplus to draw from
I never have a hard time
Finding what to write about
I only have difficulty trying to decide
What is less important than the other.

Some write me letters in blood
Thanking me for all that I've done
Some say that I gave them strength
And the will to get beyond
Their own terrible pain.

I am glad they consider me
A person of such pomp and circumstance
But the truth, slanted by my view
Is that I am incapable of caring for them
I am as inconsiderate as a baby who has become
Detached from the teat he was suckling upon.

As cruel as it is kind
I must confess that others never for a second
Cross my frantically overburdened mind
I don't write for anyone but myself
Selfish I know, but survival is my goal.

Here I go
Doing it again
Just as I always have and always will
Listen if you must, carefully read the lines
Study the simplistic madness enshrined.

Know me and in turn find yourself
Somewhere in between heaven
And the heal of my boot
The pressure applied is truth
I can offer you nothing else
But certainly everything more…


Here I Go Written by Keaton Foster
Copyright © 2012

Biography
ID: 1645579   (Rated: 18+)
Keaton Foster Biography 
Keaton Foster Biography, full information, publishing credits, and project listing
by Keaton Foster Wears No Pants!


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© Copyright 2012 Keaton Foster Wears No Pants! (UN: keatonfoster at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Keaton Foster Wears No Pants! has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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