Runcible Spoon

poetry and prose webzine

Poetry Prose Submissions Contributors Home heart logo Privacy Notice Links Marc Darnell

The Poem Speaks

 

I am not a tragic poem--

just one without a sense of happiness,

in a world running out of room

 

for simple ennui in quiet homes

now occupied by jarring wealthiness

that no one writes a poem

 

about unless it tells how one may come

to such a state of careless bliss.

These are somber words-- no room

 

for explanation or for whom

the bell will toll next , I guess

the best of times are here, with poems

 

serious and deep erased by some

who think that sorrow has no place,

that positivity fills rooms,

 

temporary till the tomb--

paralysis with snuffing space,

too cramped to write the least bit tragic poem

in a world running out of room.