A poem I have written, will you care to read it and share with me your thoughts? Criticism welcome?
refusing to come down from his cloud
his face masked by yearning and grief from ones windowsill
his true expressions are undesirable
he continues to sit on the street, an unreal man of class fallen
from grace into the squalor of a bottle of bourbon.
From where has the man come? He beckons to me in the foggy
morning sunset, his face not draped in sadness but in shadows,
a shadow man draped in shrouds, my own mind's making for the worst.
He turns from me, where does he wish to take me?
I wonder as I scramble through the hollow suburban streets
bereft of warmness and laughter, only the same dull look upon every
shining face, substituting the image of America for that of a an angel
from grace. The man awaits me as a dog does his master,
casting back head in hopes of pursuit. As I
approach this man I see him for what he is-America.
America! Again you beckon to me with your foulness,
when will you learn you are a country abandoned?
I'm glad you like it, and thanks for the comments. I'll admit though, this particular poem came to me solely in a rush, I wrote it all as it was just coming to me.
And yeah Zeppelin, that's basically the message I was attempting to get across, I'm glad you got it. You seem to understand my work better than some others, thanks for your thoughts.