Dusted and faded, yellowed and cracked Yet overflowing with forgotten life, There are a hundred souls eager to reclaim The mind’s eye from an almost nothing. Quavering beneath the invisible ramparts And the omnipresent tower.
Cold to idealism, yet basks in precedent, Beats down the choking victim, always born to die. Misplaced, out of sync, and unwilling to be saved Somebody is newly refurbished, parts all working. Faceless, a slave to Loman’s dream, And all the while indisputably nothing
He needs to escape, but cannot move; Trapped by this manic necessity to neither stay nor go He lost sight of this book once, Newly found, though it is far too late And despite Holden’s inevitable demise There is still an overarching regret. But for now this somebody is in fact Nobody- Reaching, striving, but ultimately dying.
Poet’s Note – I wrote this poem during the fall semester of my senior year at University, when I was facing the prospect of becoming an independent adult (both a relief and a horror). I was trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life, and it was very difficult to compromise between what I wanted to do and what was practical, given the realities of life.
Curled up in the blanket of dim-light hours, Shadows overreach, closing the gap of every enclosing hour. The gentle waft that had me swoon , Drew me into a cup of steaming brew, Lips damp with the brush of froth,
Curled up in the blanket of dim light hours, Shadows overreach, closing the gap of every enclosing hour. The gentle waft that had me swoon, Drew me into a cup of steaming brew, Lips damp with the brush of froth,
Society … A place where some people still suffer , you see the gap between the top and jeans but not between the blouse and peticote , guys are you blind or duffer ? Boys can actually disturb the whole
I remained transfixed as the booming voice of this roman majestic orator cleft the hallowed halls of this storied Philadelphia sanctuary. His every word rang as true today as when first uttered prior to when the golden age of Rome