Oh Man
Oh man
What are you but flowing rivers
And record players
Slowly gathering dust
In the corner of my
quiet room?
What are you but moans,
Visions of a life
Not yet lived
But foredoomed?
And man,
When will the angelic chorus’ play?
I shall moan tonight
Like no other,
With suitcase in hand,
Heavy with the burdens
Of yesteryear’s
Indifference.
Oh man,
You stand in rain,
You howl
I howl
For the solitude and prayers,
Ten tributes of orchestral glory
Go to the fortuitous fool
Who stuck out his hand
And felt the damp
Within his palm.
The angels wait for me,
They say
Wake up
Wake up
You’re dead,
I play my numbers two a piece
And rest my decaying soul,
I stand and watch the Thames a- flowing
And I wait
For your epitaph.
poem by Nadia Khomami
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
