Description: i have to warn you this is a very strange form but i hope you guys understand it. if you can't please leave a post letting me know how to make it make sense.
Thank You, Christopher
Sad Story of Man -------------------------------------------
Old man in a diner
Has no family
No one to call his own
Just sits there
Drinking his coffee alone
Waitress brightens the day
Pouring conversation
Faking a smile to the host
Brings, Rings tickets
Dreams of her own ticket
To the coast
Self-lessly gave
Her shifts almost done
Home she'll go
To get a little rest
Others hands
Have wrung her dry
Strange man in an alley
Stalks his prey
Waits deep in the shadows
Staring in her purse
She didn't know
Sad story of man
Can't right what's done
Lose control
Others teach us to cry
Scarlet necks give
When hung from the sky
Naked to the grave
That day will come
Take it slow
Take a deep breath
Never know when we go
But we all die
And leave the mess
On a personal note, I find this ironic. There's a morbid humor in this that I believe carries your intention of sad and humane into a whole different plane. The irony of man being moral, and being man, at the same time. The irony of man being societal and emotional. The irony that we, created biologically to be selfish and proud, are forced into a world where we need to care for others. Why.
Sad story of man
Can't right what's done
Lose control
Others teach us to cry
Scarlet necks give
When hung from the sky.
I can see you breathing a deep, mournful sigh here. Just dispersed in yourself over the man you speak of, the stories of others, the connections, which all fall into dust once they're done- killed, suicided, raped, dead. What are we to call ourselves anything spectacular in this world of speculation? What baggage do we carry that we have the right, the abilities, the structures in our eyes, to cry? And then we want to change everything, to make good of what is already there for us... how ungrateful.
Waitress brightens the day
Pouring conversation
Faking a smile to the host
Brings, Rings tickets
Dreams of her own ticket
To the coast
You captured someone so simple here. So very simple. But it's fantastic. Utterly crafted to be relatable.
Naked to the grave
That day will come
Take it slow
Take a deep breath
Never know when we go
But we all die
And leave the mess
The Mess. This is so stagnant and true. It's the final development and the sufficient answer to every character you've created in this poem. A mess. Humanity, the stupid lifestyles that every depressed man, whorish waitress with better intentions and men and women who prey on innocence lead. Humanity is just a mess. It's all a round-about way of being murdered by some instance of fate, destiny, physical end to us. Now we have to accept it. And take a breath and figure it'll last until the next breath is needed. We're so stupid.
Submission Name: Sad Story of Man
