[for critique] The Quitting Song
I once wrote a poem I was quite proud of
Back in that brief era
When coffeehouses were still cool and
I could smoke indoors without Mother finding out
It was a song of loss and patience
About a boy who no longer cared who was right
Waiting for his chance to make amends
In that place where lonely souls gathered
There was a rhythm to the words
Which matched the beat of his crouching
Methodical apathy
A sip of my coffee, a puff on my cigarette
Sip. Puff.
Sip. Puff.
Back then, the apartments were tiny
Cramped and full of cameraderie
Always, I ached to be Out And About,
Dreaming Of Homes To Be Built
Sip. Puff. Sip. Puff.
I built my dreams around another
Tore them apart and
Built myself new dreams
With only one foundation
Built a tower meant just for me
Rid myself of unwanted habits and
Found the kind of serenity
I yearned for in Father's house
Sip. Sip.
Sip sip, sip.
This warm hearth crackles just as I wished
This kitchen smells just as I dreamed
But I cannot find a comfortable rhythm
To my idleness
Sip.
Sip sip.
Sip, sip.
Perhaps it is time to seek new dreams.
Sip. Sip. Sip sip, sip.
Sip. Sip.
Sip.