GRANT FRASER

Rookie - 669 Points (JUNE 7 1964 / ABERDEEN)

Fruit Of Exasperation


I am not free
in the sense
that I am not me,

but you,
and everything
you choose or do,

in a hall of the
brain and bombarded
with pain,

even if you don't
see it, one feels
it every day,

as I toss and turn
over inside,

this is not me,
never...

but until you break,
and when you do...

everything is out to
catch you, even this
machine...

I am not me,
even once you decide,
to ride it out to
the end...

reinventing
and extracting

all outboard
or inboard devices,

from the motor mind,

don't be kind, for
a second time,
if your not - really!

unkindness is a desert
and a long long look
before it's new...

never in the moment,
until it doubles back

and your token gesture,
doesn't go a long way,

it must go all of it...
before everything turns
to powder!

now it's us,
see what it means?

step out, something bigger
looms,
unmistakable connection

- awaits....

this is it
and we do notice,

but yet we cannot
and will not...

Ah! let it try...
let it die...

nothing!

Submitted: Saturday, May 17, 2014
Edited: Saturday, May 17, 2014

Topic of this poem: poem

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