Friends Within The Darkness
I can remember starving in a
small room in a strange city
shades pulled down, listening to
I was young I was so young it hurt like a knife
because there was no alternative except to hide as long
not in self-pity but with dismay at my limited chance:
trying to connect.
the old composers -- Mozart, Bach, Beethoven,
Brahms were the only ones who spoke to me and
they were dead.
finally, starved and beaten, I had to go into
the streets to be interviewed for low-paying and
by strange men behind desks
men without eyes men without faces
who would take away my hours
piss on them.
now I work for the editors the readers the
but still hang around and drink with
Mozart, Bach, Brahms and the
sometimes all we need to be able to continue alone
are the dead
rattling the walls
that close us in.
Charles Bukowski's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Friends Within The Darkness by Charles Bukowski )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- Hard words from an open page..., PARTHA SARATHI PAUL
- Who Put On The News?, John Garth Raubenheimer
- In servitude and sea, Elijah o.b Zoff
- mermaid, laxami Cards
- If, dhia abada
- PRAYER OF SALVATION, Colin Ian Jeffery
- Sweet Child, Galina Sherkov
- Hurt, Galina Sherkov
- Neonates in Buckets, Richard Thripp
- Cold, Galina Sherkov