FC ( / CNY)

Drunken-Stumbling And Foghorn-Mumbling

in a search for you
all I found was my rotten self.
the pavement swerves
i trundle along.

through a parade of fools on concrete
from one place to the next
i watched a dozen failed campaigns of conquest
contests to find which nation was best.
i vomited.

a new view
ripening it's
a puzzled view.

reality television places society on a retrograding scale of ethics.
a starved news feed craves attention
capturing fearful eyes.

those ignorant
of twilight and
eternal scenes.

all the profitable
knowledge
of this world seems
suspect on the screen

at night we process supposed truths within frantic heads.

we surmise, stamp and seal, then send -
latent and lurking in a chest at the end of the bed.
purple pills before breakfast to contain internal riots, a
a reaction to how life remains bent.

just a trace of truth for troubled minds, please.
a proper dose that every person can find simply.

there are the lucky ones
in this world.
their faces shine bright
like nearby satellites.
guided by fate.
gliding across
gold-paved boulevards.

there are confused souls
with no control.

they believe those
lucky bastards
know something
and decide to
let their story
become
their story.

they blindly pave a path to
many breathtaking means,
until that anticipated end
offers no validation for their stubborn stalking
of some american dream.

selfishly sufficient – the ones entertain any want.
totally driven – a soul designed to flaunt.

but behind deliberate, belied expressions
each soul experiences that life-long barrier
the same loneliness that visits you
alone in time, in space, this cold and lonely human race.

annoyingly acquainted with our imminent end
silently repeating our haunting truth
for everyone to hear
the creation of fear.
mortal disquietude.
endeavoring savoir faire.

when we were young,
you might recall,
the nights we’d hold hands.
stung by love,
we made great plans for
a not-so-far-away-land.
plenty of work
get high, and sometimes, off the porch
watch squirrels zig and zag.

lightning flash
a new view
flickers ghostly blue
our faces
our land
the porch where we dance
coffee, cigarettes and conversation till dusk
our drinks stay strong to better ease us into the night.

“why don’t we chase our dream? ”
she asked.
“baby,
isn't this a dream with out spending your time in worry?
sharing in this progressing system of envy and greed?
amongst all this playground materialism?
to deal with some constant bemoan?
when all you could ever want was some-one
who would share their love with you and you alone? ”
oh, if only you could feel the skylark in her heart.

the first cries of one bell.
promises simplicity, liberty and freedom.
try not to feel
the constant weight.
the cycle of debt,
the fear in mistrust,
the hopelessness
looking for love.
instead
know that it is there
waiting
and you
have some plan.

by Floyd Crenshaw

Other poems of CRENSHAW (128)

Comments (1)

wow...that one almost hurt to read...great job man