Almost The Saddest Poem
I wanna sing the saddest songs as if I would die…
Pre-death pre-burial requiems…
Lethal notes… Morose words and non-words…
I wanna sing the saddest songs as if I would live forever –
Forever in the dungeons of my benevolence.
And then, I wanna cry my soul out as if I’ve lost God…
But first, wish that I still have a soul for I no longer know…
I wanna run in circles within an untamed wilderness
to feel that I am not lost, in circles, running and wanting untamed…
after my tears have equalled the waves of all the world’s seas
including her… her tsunamis of centuries…
I want to find myself at the edge of a snow-capped mountain and never rest
then scream my frozen lungs out after expelling my guts,
scream until I hear only the sound of my recovered voice –
the one that could read and write sadder than almost the saddest poem…
Distorted and soul-starved,…
What did I say?
Straving for my soul,
I don’t ache to feel a little less alive…
Nor do I merely ache…
My madness does not represent a longing for joy.
Madness sways beyond the barbwires of longings.
Thus, not even a longing for death.
(You don’t need to die to be dead).
My loneliness is not soothed by company.
Loneliness is glory!
My burden blinds with the northern lights best in darnkess.
My passions severe the cosmos with their controlled nonexistence…
There is nothing more worse for me and ill
than the brooding mediocrity when I do not sing when I will.
—–
NOTES:
“Almost the Saddest Poem” is a remake of The Saddest Poem. But herein, the context changes somehow but the end-point remains. How can not being able to sing (no matter how you sound or don’t sound as silence can be music) be so sad? P.S. The titles have nothing to do with the levels of sadness in each of them.
He Is A Song
Reach the summit of a mountain
Kiss the floor of the sea
In all of Life’s adventures
There is a song in me
He is the love
And Epic reward
From God to all of us here
He’s lived a good life
Been giving good love
And on his 80th year
We thank the Lord
This man is a song
Who’ll live on…
So walk the gravel and cement
Of busy city streets
Convert the traffic into jazz
With this legend in your ears
He is the love
And Epic reward
From God to all of us here
He’s lived a good life
Been giving good love
And on his 80th year
We thank the Lord
This man is a song
Who’ll live on…
A Certain Source of Better Sense
Have you ever seen or heard
Or felt or ever known
A deeper soul than one that has settled
Its confounded passions for diversities?
While favorites are fine,
How would you know that there are better things
In Life if you have shut your
Ears exclusive to one genre of Music?
I will not bother to try
To understand why you don’t…
Understand….
No, I won’t…
I am sorry that you will never feel
What I feel over melodies that ache
For suicide that one can not commit
For the music’s just too good to die on…
I am sorry that you will never know
What makes me dance a jingling jive
Or a cold and clinging ballet…
Or what notes engulf my heart in sweet contemplation…
While screaming seems like noise
One day you’ll find yourself soothed by its serenity
And remember we, who traveled the world
With our ears on the folks, so merrily…
…As you laughed
While we ignore your mockery…
And as you limited Life
While we marveled in its serendipity
Even your idols have taken such identities
As part of themselves so the whole world connects…
Your self-drawn boundaries make you
Predictable and detrimental to sense.
So I will not bother to try
To understand why you don’t…
Understand….
No, I won’t…
Xonnette*Soul 