Just a drink
I woke up to nothing yesterday,
nothing in my pockets good to be found.
Just some lint leftover from the coming day,
a future between the fingers felt profound.
Twisted was times string looping back,
straightened was the days coming path.
Memories sorted and it's not a high stack,
the numbers distorted with errors in the math.
I woke on a circular path yesterday and today,
I stare at my fates stack piled the very least.
The same start, pockets of lint, and a dusty day,
waiting for the missing part of fate to be pieced.
Distressed and dusted from the streets,
dirty clothed and all parts of me stink.
It's unfortunate but each day it repeats,
I'm so poor I can't afford a drink.
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Author:
Maplespal (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 6th, 2025 07:27
- Comment from author about the poem: Some live at the bottom and can never get ahead. Many reasons are unpreventable.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
Real and metaphoric my favorite type of poetry. The feeling is not just poverty but freedom, when you have nothing there is nothing to loose. A beautiful poem in its imagery and rhyme it seems to flow from the heart that is drained but still beats a fave
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