Stream Of Consciousness Poem by David Whalen

Stream of consciousness

Thoughts that come at random
With no foresight and no plan
My fingers type at their own volition
With no structured idea at hand

I live in an environment of inquietude
In an ambiance of unease and perhaps fear
There’s a weight upon my forehead
A sense of loss of things I hold dear

Today’s a day much like any other
I read, I eat, yet feel so incomplete,
and blandly smiling at me in calm so replete
On my desk, photos of sisters and brother

Just to sit and compose idle randomness
At my desk, takes my mind away for a bit
Yet at the back of my mind sits emptyness
And knowing I cannot escape from it

This bit of inane exposition
Is from my fingers and not of my mind
I try to stop all conscious thought
And let my fingers write blind

My busy fingers put a name
To unconscious sentiments so sad
Stream of consciousness
says more of the same…and that..
I’m slowly going mad