Here's a poem I actually had published back during my short stint at trying to be a "professional" poet. There were a few of them that got picked up from small-time zines and other poetry publications, though for the half dozen or so that got accepted, I must have received a hundred rejections. There's no percentage in poetry, that's for sure. It's just too easy.
Anyway, somebody thought this one was worth printing eight or nine years ago. I should probably go dig through my records and see who it was...
I wish I had money to buy
all the things I dream,
because it's so hard to be
in this world we live in.
These people of Illogicality,
their scenes of grandeur are staring at me.
And things are so hard these days
when all life is simply fleeting away,
and we don't seem to be getting very far
and things don't seem to fit anymore.
When I am so unsure about it,
can we be happy in the morning?
I'm so totally lost
when it comes to things I see
in my world, the world of illogicality.
How will we ever stay, you and me?
Life would be so good with you
if only I knew who you were,
knew where you are now.
If you could know what you've done to me.
I'll see you in the wind someday from now,
your long soft hair blowing so iridescently.
In the sparkling sunlight of a nearby land,
I'll know it's you,
you'll see me from afar,
you'll call out as I go wandering by,
and things will finally be as right
as once they were in the start.
Because I have done this thing before
it will always be happening,
always have been,
for it is locked in eternal memory.
Everything we've done,
all we will,
has all been done,
and will yet be happening,
for it all comes together
at the verge of tomorrow and yesterday.