Midnight At The Crossroads

Poem By Michael Norton

Who do I think I am?
What right to I have to think about what I am thinking about?
I’m I some sort of righteous, all-knowing being who has yet to fail,
Yet to scar myself
Yet to wake up in a cold sweat, knowing that I had dreamed about it again
Yet to watch a movie and be a character I see
Yet to scream at nothing
Of course I am not
I am an unshaven, jeans-wearing, throw back to a time in which I didn’t even live
A hypocritical cynical pessimistic naysayer who could find fault in a beautiful day
I look at things in my life and I belittle them
I am a debaser
I trust almost no one
I believe almost nothing
I turn good things into bad things before the good things have a chance
To turn bad on their own terms
I spew out arguments and counterarguments and countercounterarguments
As if that was my job
I try to be a bohemian
I try to be a beat
I try to be an intellectual
I should try to stop
Stop trying to read the right books
Watch the right films
Listen to the right artist
While I am in the right mood
I should be able to yell certain four letter words in public
I should be able to say what I want to people
I should be able to be gratified when I want
People tell me, things happen for a reason
I’d like to tell them a four letter word
So what
So what if I’m writing this at night
So what if I might not feel this way tomorrow
The next day
Or the day after that
So what if most problems are only in my mind
And almost all of those problems I create
So what if I haven’t seen that movie
So what if I didn’t “understand” that book
If you think this “poem” is about you, it might not be
If you don’t think this “poem” is about you, it probably is

Comments about Midnight At The Crossroads

There is no comment submitted by members.

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of NORTON

Confessions Of A Subway Rider

Little man in a downtown station,
Reaching for a ticket stub,
Walks through the stile,
But his coat gets stuck in the gears.


I think I’ll go home but where is that?
When your heart is nothing less then a trap,
And your feelings orbit somewhere out in space.
And your mind still lingers on that simple question of faith.

Life In A Glass Box

Life in a glass box,
Is wiser lived in solitude,
Take it from a man, who knows,
The depths of which you fall.

The Appearance Of A Line

I’m looking for a villain
Someone close enough, so that I can end my problems
Everything is getting hazy,
Lines appear that were never here before

The People That I Know Or The Story Of The Find

I took a walk
A single sentence with a subject and verb
I took a walk
Though the action of the subject is absurd

Melting Dreams To Feed The Daytime

I’ll give everything passing thing I see,
A silly name that about you and me.
And even when I sleep at night,
I’ll have to hold my eyes to stop the light