Simple Machines

by

Adam Gosha

When I went to sleep this morning, when
I woke up this afternoon, when
I choked up on my reflection, when I broke
down in seclusion. You know, I've built a
tower so high, it begins to
wilt (uncontrollably). I can't let
it tumble, efforts can not be
blown away dust. A simple rock
through glass is an impossible act,
though is such desired as the 'prize'
after. Pain, and the rain reflecting the
heart, flooding, caving inside. Hard days
are going to fall, I foresee
unfortunate destruction. When I take a
journey to the edge of my car, when I laugh
not knowing alter-ego pain, when I rise
to sweet repeated music, when I
fall far from euphoria into the arms of
no one. I know, I've grasped upon quite
an acquired taste. What's ignored, to them
unknown or not, may be the
definition of my fragile existence, and what
they desire up until complete obsession, may very well
be the objects I've left behind at the
bottom of a stairway.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Great Universities of Our Time
by: Joyce Hemsley
from: Sunderland, England, UK

To visit all of Adam Gosha's poems, click HERE

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