untitled

i can’t think of a title for this one

even after frantic thought

in fact i can’t write anymore

wish i could justify it

saying something romantic or

insightful or deep

that it’s because of all the hurt i’ve seen

in the eyes that are still adorned by smiles

that it’s been stifled by all the hearts that’ve borne

great troubles without a complaint. that it’s been rent

by the lives that’ve been torn

by mindless strife

that words seem worthless before little hands

scaly dry and cold, and tiny scabbed toes

sticking out of broken shoes. innocent

eyes staring out from under matted hair

uncomprehending of how unfair

the world is. staring at the trickle of water

blowing on numb fingers to warm

them while waiting for the bucket

to be carried back home

souls like shoes

from trudging get worn

ideas begin to seem naked, shorn of dignity

but no, that’s not happened to me

ya, sure, in this world immense

i’ve trudged along a bit on weary feet

and seen the futility of pretence

amongst strangers, and the insignificance

of what i called poetry

but to be honest, things don’t affect me like they should

maybe they’re for minds greater than mine

to ponder upon and internalize

and then talk of in pained prose

in anguished howls through the night

my heart’s too shallow

my thoughts too inane

my emotions too fickle

my love too vain

so now if i lay my pen to rest

you know it’s not because i detest the written word

and don’t let me convince you of something fancy like

my heart pays no heed to my mind’s behest

no, there’s nothing wrong
it’s simply that

the vanity i felt in my thoughts is gone