Moment Of Youth Mantra Poem by Les Wordsmore

Moment Of Youth Mantra



I am superstition like a black cat walking over cracked pavement and discarded four-leaf clovers under a ladder. There's a hat on my bed, another thing gone missing from my head.
Like a Jackson Pollack in white-lined notebook pages my words splatter
As if it didn't matter if they rhymed.
Or if the sounds and measure don't measure up to the beat you wanted to march to in that other guys eardrums. I can see my self clearer through shards of broken mirror
cuz I collect bad karma and save it for a hot sunny day just to cool off and stop sweating the small stuff
i think i've had enough, but whats one more? Here's to a world on fire and a frozen core.

I'm bad luck like an opened umbrella in the living room, i'm just dying to see what happens.
I wouldn't mind a little curse like the black cat in the last verse because the last seven years really bored me, a torturous fortune may relieve me, or at least grasp my attention.
I'm thinkin Everlasting truth is pretty sweet like a gobstopper and everlasting youth is always fleeting and unattainable like a shared vision. but we can still at least share our dreams with other numbered sheep while they creep through your doors and come in like Morrison, articulate yet dissociative, shed the asterisks and we'll associate ourselves with youthful slang like pound signs and ampersands, and we might get pounded, but even if they have the guns we still have those numbers and we're taking over like my favorite song bleeding through the radio as im speeding by a cop at 90 miles an hour on a deserted road in a deserted town and he doesn't notice because i don't want to be seen right now
I just need to be heard

I am solitude like solitary confinement, confined to a prison of my mind
Undoubtedly uncertain about the underlying factors of my cathartic lethargy. and my endless energy when head hits pillow and lingering languor when the wandering soles of my shoes touch the earth. the sun embraces another full rotation with unwavering indifference to the new day. Alone in a crowd gathered to show solidarity I salute to the flag I can't stand for, but stand under, in solitude. Summoned by summer to become one unified under the setting sun bringing the day to a brilliant and bloody end behind open eyes and closed doors. doorbells of perception ringing freedom in our forefathers ears. hoping that the hand on the other side isn't clenched in a fist like that last time. but it wouldn't be the first time.

I am revolution like the sun in orbit, circling my brain like a vulture. my insides turned out but held together by the centrifugal motion of my mind, going around and coming back around like a law, like a revolving door, back to the start of the circle. that which has no beginning or end, no corners or splits along the path. I am revolution like a revolver, revolt for the cause not against the stigma of standing stagnant, not against myself but with myself, for myself, not by myself but by my side, and by my brothers side do i spark revolution. revolting like a open wound my blood has been shed on my front step, the front lines lie in my front yard, my world is under siege and my rebel brothers and sisters await the resolution of evolution beyond revolution and absolution, and my constitution is strong, my will will endure. our will must endure.

I am youth, I am ideals at a time when the mind first develops the ability to develop ideals.
Every song speaks directly to me, about me. Every poem, every line invokes thoughts, promotes the ideals i have become. The worthy and unworthy. the meek shall inherit the mire man made, multiplied by multiplex motifs. moved by momentary matters, mindful of mundane madness. Marinated in the muck and molasses of monotonous malaise. Martyrs of mothers' misguided masochism. mirror images of moments past. Many miss the mark, misrepresented and misunderstood. Myopia materializes memories of mistakes made on mystic Monday mornings, malnourished and mutilated. Motivated by motionless morbidity. Moved by mortality, maneuvered and made moot. Passed over individually by those seeking to maintain the masses. Misinformed by massive media moguls and micromanaging missionaries. A myriad of mighty militant misfits, a million minutemen march on Metropolis. Masters of the meek must abdicate the authority, yield to the majority. I am multitudes of metaphors like a simile smiling smelling of sensimillia. Forgone conclusions, forgotten solutions, chosen paths laid by best intentions yet preventing invention, intervening introspection. Limitless options reduce limitations, increase expectations, subdue elevation. I am youth, thoughtful and distraught, spritely and tender, fearless and flag-less, no will to surrender.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Poetic Soul 16 April 2010

Well written...very intresting.

0 0 Reply
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success