A Pensive Lady
They say I am a loner - a
Loser. I agree with them. Yet,
I am not. They seek my oblivion but
I believe them-senses; hence, I am not.
They say writers are weepers in
The sky and the pens and the papers
Are their friends. I understand them;
Yet, I am not a sad soul. I bet not. Life
Is like a roller coaster. You dump me
But you chase for money; but, I am not
Sad. I won't cry if the root of melancholy is
The heartbreak! I am not moved. I am not!
Then I go back to the room, grab a
Coffee and spill it on my sheets. I drown
Myself with tears for I cannot write because
The COFFEE quickens the beat of my hand- to
Hold the pen so I can start this poem to
End. But, I deny my mirror. A hideous countenance.
A soul can not be a poet just to deny melancholy.
Hence, I write the poem with my hand still holding
The pen. But my mind is still on the coffee. Then my
Temple started to ask, " Why isn' t a simple coffee
Good enough to dilute the sadness?"
The poem started to end. Then, it started
To answer the question itself. I'm not perplexed.
