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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Phoenix

from a long day of
nothing
but mental masturbation
and self-flagellation
Brain packed with eider down
fuzzed filled
forgetful
The clock
the enemy
ticking away the day
time to rally 
move the leaden limbs
accomplish something
anything
maybe tomorrow
I've been shot down
in flames
and I want to believe
in rebirth
but I'm still waiting
burnt feathers

11 comments:

Elisabeth said...

Great poem. I can readily identify with these feelings.

Brian Miller said...

oy so you had a rough one eh? hope that phoenix finds its ways out of the ashes...

The Cello Strings said...

this is beautiful,
smart combination of prompts, smiles.

Happy Weekend!

Buddah Moskowitz said...

I liked how the author was so exhausted that it just came spilling out. Good job, mosk

Dave King said...

Superb. Love it dearly.

tinkwelborn said...

Hey! good poem here.
self torture, flagellation & mental masturbation.
beat it! just beat it (as the fella said).
hope hangs out here.
thanks for sharing.

darev2005 said...

But tomorrow's another day! (Swell to music)

Bouncin' Barb said...

Boy have I felt like this! Great writing.

Fireblossom said...

Depression SUCKS! It eats itself and gets bigger. I hate it.

Pat Tillett said...

Yep, we are all waiting...
Nice!

twinkly sparkles said...

Yes, can relate. Sigh.