(no subject)

[snorkistpismo]

It’s a prism filled with remains.

There’s a drum in that box,
But no hands there to beat it.

There’s a sock in that shoe,
But not foot there to fill it.

I’ve carried out your last requests,
But you can’t remember what they were
It seems…
You can’t recall the best of things.

How come every rock I pile,
Every leaf that I stand,
Every tree that I treat, a while,
Never understand…?

Maybe because they’re nothing but remains,
Of shatters stars, nothing but a pretty stain…
Unable to speak, or think.
They can’t take the blame.

Blame the speaker,
And the piler,
And the stander.
He’s the one who treats the ones who never ask(ed) to be treated.

He seats the old lady, who never asked to be seated.
He kisses the cheek, that doesn’t want to be kissed.
And leaves the door open for the shriveled and weak.

I’m sleepy, but I can’t go to sleep.
So I write.

I try not to post them here though.
Oh well.

The End.