My Mediocrity POEM

Poem, a part of The 2nd Burden Anthology. Read, bleed, repeat.

[My own mediocrity] 

Every day, you see them,

the grey, interchangeable people,

living shadow lives. How profoundly

regrettable, imminently forgettable. 

I want to rescue them, in all their solemn

silences; I know the depths of their fears, 

the insatiable quality of their yearning,

how they want to kiss and quarrel and - 

chemical like, in that regard - they just want to

bind with each other... if they become tangled,

they're never tangential, they're integral to something. 

Some happening. 

x 

x

(Causation) 

But I, selfish-ego-I, am not contented 

with the possibility of playing a minor role. 

Want something more than a footnote, a page,

a f**king book. Bloated and corrosive hopes of prestigious,

prodigious influence and infamy - if necessary. Why do my 

hands reach for the throttle... the fantasy machine. 

These words appear ludicrous. For I possess

no portentous gift - not a scholar,

artist, or an intellectual of any

kind, not charismatic - 

grey the shadow people;

grey my tombstone,

which stands at 

no opulent height...

a form of solidarity. 

I am

shadow people. 

[terrifies me.] 

Reviews

[Fabian G. Franklin]

OUT Fu%&ing STANDING! Brilliant and beautiful says I! How ironic that a poem titled " My mediocrity" is so far from being mediocre?!? I have zero poems in my library but I'm adding this one. I can't over express how much I like this! Bravo and encore, maestro.