Paul Cranley

Rookie - 73 Points (02/11/1982 / Ireland)

Onthology Of I & Others - Poem by Paul Cranley

Give this day our daily death

Since then I have never risen when they have,
Nor have I slept as much as I should,
I take my tools before days dawn,
Aching from the stones I’ve broken,
As my feet shift inert
Shackles clashing pierce the morning nothingness,

I contemplate the day ahead,
See I work commission’s plain,
Prying at endless closing doors,
Hoping that my spiels enticing,
Resigned to fate that nothings working,
Dishonesty breaks my daily bread,

On break
I hide in darkened nook
A score to settle in my veins,
And as my meals adroitly prepped,
Forgotten is the guilt from ill-gotten gains,

No care or worry if days sustained,
I bother not with angst,
Trouble is it rarely is this way,
Its in the days of endless empty
Assertions are declared in secret desperation,

I have no one to hear my valiant call,
This jobs a toil, a sweat, a tremble,
With punctuations of unbridled joy,
My body creaks from deprivation,
A sin to prop this plank,

I ask:
Should I arrest the decline of the skin about my eyes
Make adjustments to my disposition,
Feed til’ body & bones are nourished,
Dress as though to make a statement,

I miss the mark of lords salvation
Sluggish through the streets at night,
I sit and let the winds set course
In hope of one day claiming me.

Topic(s) of this poem: reality

Form: Blues Poem


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, March 31, 2015



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