Across and Out of Time

Turn of the century

A millennia come to pass

I am an artifact

A remnant of the last

Out of place in either

A man out of time

Old soul suspended on a wire

My precarious position

Hung up on reality, despite my ceaseless wishing


I decided to post a pandering, self-contradictory poem… Not a soul caught on and it was treated as serious writing. This speaks volumes about the nature of online readers of poetry, or anything for that matter. These people either hit “like” without reading a word, or failed to comprehend a word of it. This is why I rarely publish anything online these days. Write for yourself, people. Don’t waste yourself on others.


Time is my obsession

Endless letters to attest

When I’m feeling fine

When under duress

I let the ink bleed on the page

I fill the empty moment with lines

I drift away

Can’t waste the precious seconds

I have to keep on moving

Even if without direction