Benjamin K Duncan

(25-03-1992 / Australia)

Incomplete


The thick smog of morning traffic gently carresses my lungs with it's carcinogenic touch.

Rapid transport
at the cost of health,
a compromise i'm willing to make.

Who isn't.

Trying not to touch the person next to you on the bus
their skin feels sticky against yours.

I remember trying to get away.

I'll just stand the whole journey, that way I won't have to touch anybody.

But they smell so.

I won't breathe the whole journey.

But they're hideous.

I keep my eyes closed.
Im not on the bus anymore, I'm in the cavernous enclave of my mind;

honeycomb brilliance.

A thousand thoughts, thinking at the same time;
jostling for attention;
synapses overcome, life a mere flash.

Remember nothing, love not a thing, feel as little as possible.

The more I invest the more I lose,
I don't want to lose myself to this world of people.

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Because out of the eons of evolution, she picked you, you are the culmination of perfection.

I am the most perfect incarnation of a human so far.

Yet I am so incomplete,
incompletely incomplete.

Submitted: Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Edited: Monday, June 21, 2010
Listen to this poem:

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Incomplete by Benjamin K Duncan )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

Poem of the Day

poet Sir Thomas Wyatt

My lute awake! perform the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And end that I have now begun;
For when this song is sung and past,
My lute be still, for I have done.

...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]