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User Rating:
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6.1
/10
(72 votes)
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Born screaming small into this world-
Living I am.
Occupational therapy twixt birth and death-
What was I before?
What will I be next?
What am I now?
Cruel answer carried in the jesting mind
of a careless God
I will not bend and grovel
When I die. If He says my sins are myriad
I will ask why He made me so imperfect
And he will say 'My chisels were blunt'
I will say 'Then why did you make so
many of me'.
Spike Milligan
| Submitted Date |
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Friday, January 03, 2003 |
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Read poems about / on: birth, death, god, world
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Comments about this poem (Me
by
Spike Milligan
) |
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Steve Cain (9/12/2006 4:09:00 PM)
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Compare with Spike's 'An Indian Boyhood'. Somewhere in Spike's life depression appeared and never let go again; we have this tiny insight into his private world. His working life has given us all, young and old, such wonderful fun and laughter. If only there had been a 'laughter-bank', where we could all have deposited our wealth of enjoyment into an account for him to draw upon. There are few like him who can make you laugh 'till it hurts and can also stand up and speak out thoughtfully over more serious issues. What a brilliant man, so greatly missed!
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