|Home: Poetry: Matthew J. Dunham: Of Images and Other Things|
I sit here and I listen, to the things that others say.
Of what they did this weekend, or perhaps just yesterday.
They speak of all the things they drank, how good it made them feel,
I just can't help but wonder though, if what they felt was real.
How can a poison fill the void, that gaping, aching gap,
That surely they must feel, leaning on a plastic tap.
Like gluttons they come running back, to fill thier empty cup.
To forget the troubles of the day, to lift thier spirits up.
I fail to see the joy they take, in wallowing in beer.
They know how it will make them feel, after tommorows here.
I see them place between thier lips, a burning cigarette,
Drink deeply of it's deadly fumes, they grab all they can get.
I know how hard it is to stop, for once I too was there.
You need to find a source of strength, someone who really cares.
You need drink or smoke just to look cool in others eyes.
If they can't just take who you are, who needs thier passive lies?
I'd rather have just one good friend then 20 friends untrue.
A real friend is a friend because they'll take you cause your you.
I care naught what they think of me, or say behind my back.
I care for those who don't pretend, then take thier friendship back.
Though you may not agree with me, or with this little rhyme,
Ponder what you've read today, the least you'll waste is time.