Patchwork

redmosquito10redmosquito10 Posts: 568
edited December 2008 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
we don’t run, we stagger
lurching from one broken dream to the next
still working on waking ourselves
from a nightmare that wouldn’t be so bad
if we only had some control
of the outcome.
but to be honest,
everything is matter
but little of it actually matters
just like the time we thought our parents would kill us
but they just yelled
and I’ve been yelling every word I’ve spoken or written
for as long as I can remember
but my memory is patchy
and my memories are patchwork
sewn together by the worn hands
of the grandmothers I never met
but still miss dearly
so death is easy and life is hard
but death is scary and life is familiar
and most of us are more afraid of the unfamiliar
than we are of pain
but shooting pains have plagued me
since I realized that most of us don’t care
but there’s still greatness to be found
beauty to be seen
and love to be had
so I keep yelling and my grandmothers keep knitting
and in the end I can only hope to have mattered
"Ah, life is a gate, a way, a path to Paradise anyway, why not live for fun and joy and love or some sort of girl by a fireside, why not go to your desire and LAUGH..."
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