Without answers,
without lies,
with nothing to gain,
nothing to hide—save for what brings me not fear, but shame—
nothing to implement as an immediate solution,
I sit on a bench that rises upward,
to contemplate the eternity of never having to resort to thinking about Eternity...
A poem that flat out refuses to have an action item. Respect. I'd take that bench too.
Picturing a bench that slowly lifts off while the guy on it does absolutely nothing. Small eternity, then the capital E one he gets to skip thinking about. I lean toward that being the joke of it.
— When I was alone, my mind would seek you out… And when I remembered those eyes upon me…
When I was younger, my mother asked me what I wanted. I wanted a computer. She wanted to buy me a motorcycle. In the end, I got the computer.
Without answers,