Michael Gale

Rookie (? / Chicago Illinois/Oklahoma City.)

A Long Journey's Ride To Death's Own Door. - Poem by Michael Gale

Yea tho' i may busy myself at the docks to an unbusied time.
Watching idly the tick of the clock's digited passage.
Manual labor tugs at my unattentive sleeves as like a well loosened
Untucked shirt tail stuck in the menotinous cogwheels of time's-
Slowly moving forward at a much quickened state.
How may i progress at a much needed sped up pace.
Only thru time to be disportinately and unresponsively slowed down
As if stuck, forever walking up a much sped up, downward escelater?
Slip knots tied loosely to a pier, while sadly and lonely moored.
Pelicans flap away low to water's edge.
Shadows hide one homeless vagrant sipping or nursing a bottle of
mouth wash purchased by a begging of money outside a dollar store's
busy doors.
I sadly come down from a wild ride of depressioned state.
Is it too late to escape this unworthy punished state of self pity.
I have beckoned my own stately lonely epesode of depressioned
solitude.
Head shrinkers may be my only life saver that may be tosed down to
my only lonely way.
This gun in my hands beg an aiming attraction to my head...
To at last give me that one and lonely peace to the many, many silent
lonely long forgotten dead.
Bang!
The end.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, April 27, 2006



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