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fdelano

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fdelano

The remains, in mental tatters,

now dragged in streets of despair.

Only a fool would believe in new life

when vital signs decline.

 

An empty ego and impotent libido

leave bitter dregs of life in limbo.

Even then, the fool deludes,

longing for days in the sun.

 

Chin up then, stiff upper lip, pip-pip,

Old Boy. You can only do the possible,

eh?

 

Display the medals,

hang the framed accolades.

Karma has finally caught up with you.

Get real.

Edited by fdelano

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tonyv

I like how the speaker makes a small, unsuccessful effort to console himself:

 

... You can only do the possible/eh?

 

Enjoyed the causticity, Franklin.

 

Tony


Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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Gatekeeper

A survivor's curse . . .

Your mention of medals brought something to mind that I hadn't thought to write about, but what the hell . . . why not?

To be built on one of those indelible photo-memories. You know the kind. The ones that come back with all the color and detail of the original. They never fade.

Thanks, I think.

 

 

G


from the black desert

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fdelano
A survivor's curse . . .

Your mention of medals brought something to mind that I hadn't thought to write about, but what the hell . . . why not?

To be built on one of those indelible photo-memories. You know the kind. The ones that come back with all the color and detail of the original. They never fade.

Thanks, I think.

 

 

G

 

After "A survivor's curse..." you lost me. Not unusual for me. Medals are those false trophies that find a space in the garage.

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Gatekeeper
A survivor's curse . . .

Your mention of medals brought something to mind that I hadn't thought to write about, but what the hell . . . why not?

To be built on one of those indelible photo-memories. You know the kind. The ones that come back with all the color and detail of the original. They never fade.

Thanks, I think.

 

 

G

 

After "A survivor's curse..." you lost me. Not unusual for me. Medals are those false trophies that find a space in the garage.

 

Talking to myself?

Being a bit too allusive, yes.

I'm working on a piece that this one of yours brought to mind, and you might see it here, but I keep finding wrinkles in it and the iron has not cooled . . .


from the black desert

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fdelano
A survivor's curse . . .

Your mention of medals brought something to mind that I hadn't thought to write about, but what the hell . . . why not?

To be built on one of those indelible photo-memories. You know the kind. The ones that come back with all the color and detail of the original. They never fade.

Thanks, I think.

 

 

G

 

After "A survivor's curse..." you lost me. Not unusual for me. Medals are those false trophies that find a space in the garage.

 

Talking to myself?

Being a bit too allusive, yes.

I'm working on a piece that this one of yours brought to mind, and you might see it here, but I keep finding wrinkles in it and the iron has not cooled . . .

 

"Indelible photo memories." I have a head/garage full of them. You're right; they never fade.

fdh

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Larsen M. Callirhoe

i threw out most of my accolades. including college degrees amongst other things. this poem explains my life the way i see unfolded in today's world. it is just cow manure for me no pun intended.

 

 

 

victor michael

.


Larsen M. Callirhoe

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