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When Society Mugs You.

Updated on November 24, 2009

 

When Society Mugs You.

©-MFB II


Coffee shadows,
in the late afternoon
darken my obituary

to my dreams.
Youthful bubbles

of hope percolated,
now fade into blackness
in the fragile porcelain 

of my soul.

We grow old amidst our
aspirations of

happiness grown cold.


Poets tend to pen their goals
in cages of tight script,
hoping that each will
someday break free.


Alas, cobwebbed drawers
of chapbooks gathering dust,
festoon the emptiness
of many writer's life works.

Content in the fact that
I have reached at least
some of the masses,
though so many

seldom reach back,
my restless mind now

seeks only the escape,
of documenting my

emotional states.

I am a twenty-

-first century poet,
just a small period in
the vast volumes of time.

 
A speck amidst the millions,
who sought recognition,
yet found only lead-aches
spent on endless yellow
tablets of relief.

Coffee shadows
in the late afternoon,
darken this my latest write,
filtered through reality,
and dispensed far too often
in the drip, drip, drip,
of stale tears.

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