when it all stops

when this poem stops

when I am done with it

done with saying shit

I have a life to go back to

I have sacks to pack

and master-plans to act to

I have dreams that will probably blow up

but I have a show ,to show up to

I have an act to be

the constant slave, in order to be

I have fools to teach

and blasphemy to Preach

when this poem stops and I walk out

I have to deal with keeping shut my mouth

and accept lies as favors

and savor the flavor

of being the favorite

runaway,

from the land of the dream weavers

and then beg and deliver

I will have to present an alteration

to the schemes that I had, as a kid !

when I walk out and cease being to be

weird with my last pages filled with poetry

when you stop to wonder – what the fuck is wrong with me?

words will fall off my body

and un armoured, exposed to my bare skin

I remember I am responsible for a million other thing

and to the next of my kin

I cant be going ballistic with my dreams

yeah you missed it with your screams

I’ll say it and you’ll think

if that is exactly what I mean

but I wont be pissed at when you beam

at my filthy little regime

and the satire in your eyes

and that half-cracked smile

you’ll pat me on my back

when I go back out this place

with a knack for  hung out faces

when I take the heavy steps

the steps to the step-desire

when I pack it in a bag

set all of my fucking dreams on fire

you’ll know it…

when the poem stops

that is the death of the poet !

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One thought on “when it all stops

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