random poem

we read a poem called "Song For Bird and Myself" by Jack Spice in poetry class today.. and it inspired me to write this heap of words:

CLICHE UPON CLICHE: THE POEM

love, love, love, then something about a dove
or about above or perhaps
below.. yes, below
the eyes and past the nose, to the lips.
soft and moist, like the lips below the hips, and of course,
between these 4 lips lies the heart.
the ever so famous heart. beat beat bawl. beat beat fall to weak in the knees.
cupid and hearts and love love love. like a mirror
to poor Narcissus. No, selfishness never works. Yes,
the heart, or what it the soul?
And where was the soul again? Here? There?
Where does it lie? Oh and the lies! the lies and their words! But the truth,
the truth
somehow lies in THESE words,
MY words, THE words you are reading, wondering why they don't rhyme.
Could this be mere words posing as a poem? No. No.
It couldn't be... after all, it mentions love, love, love, and
dove, and above. But the metaphors... Where are the metaphors?
Like finding out your English teacher was your father's mistress,
revealing that OHHH! of revelation! that "oh! THAT'S WHY my brother's eyes are blue!"
Metaphors, yes, metaphors explain things like why eyes are blue, or green like lust, or was it money?,
or white like virgins,
like the KKK,
like the white man devil,
or red like passion, like thirst, like blood,
or grey like the FOG that covers MY soul, HIS soul, HER soul, our souls,
or brown like the MUD that covers HER soles, HIS soles, MY soles.
Time, and life, and ohh's! and ahh's! and yes, and truth! and enlightenment! and revelations! and MEANING! and love love love! seek it all in a poem,
in words,
or maybe not.
[climatic point.] Now isn't that what life was made for?




random. but yeah. <3