Edgar Allen Ho
Umm…Alright, look. I don’t mean to get all flouncy up in here, and I know I said in a previous entry that I don’t like people who "write poetry", but I do like "good poetry", and have resumed taking a stab at it in tandem with my shot in the dark stab at writing song lyrics.
For musicians who will never sing them in songs that will never exist, no less.
But anyways, this is something I wrote, not intended for translation to song, but that I kinda like. Weird. OH, and I swear I’m not at all suicidal; the title came to me mid-way through writing it.
"Suicide Anthem: Hopelessly Devoted to Lose"
Marching regimen of seconds
steadfast come the sixty minutes
Hours sweep us into days—
months, thirty roughly bundled make
Stacked twelve together,
years then take us through it all again times ten:
Aligned for miles,
decades ten,
encapsulate an eon then.
The sun will rise
The moon will fall
In turn shall all of us grow old,
our measured circumstance bestowed:
we know not when, but that death comes.
Time thus to us is everything
and precious,
even pittance-owned
The gift of life
is but the beggar’s folly
in the eyes of fate.
For starts have stops,
beginnings, ends—
sole token of assurance given,
the worth of which some great unknown called God we say determines:
Uncontested, fluctuating,
without reason, on a whim,
Life is, quite simply, what it is,
this silent juggernaut contends.
So, what’s the use
and what’s the point?
Let’s shuffle loose this mortal coil!
Resist by resting in peace, to eternal slumber lie,
stark crumbs thrown by fate denied
Just die!
For no one answers nor agrees
to pleas or means to happy end,
What kind of world, of life makes sense
where pleasure keeps pain companion?
This twisted, sad, scraping abyss:
enslavement of our existence.
But in a blinking, breathing pause,
if you should catch the traces of,
glimpse but a wisp on some horizon distant
even as the darkness falls,
make out just the shape through clouds of
how’s and why’s we kick up trying to explain our lives
Witness firsthand
the magical intangible love is
You know
It speaks
And to anguish-defeaned hearts
sounds like a song,
Shows to prison-mired minds
a crystal ball:
sprawling plains of possibility,
hope swirling
Even if it flickers briefly,
floats forever, memory
Somehow makes light
of those forces that are beyond our control
Leads the way, creates,
suggests to us there’s something more.
