Those things

Anger stays
when beauty leaves
and there’s nothing left but gifts.
Those inanimate things
that once caught our eyes,
but can now no longer lift.

Because they’re all just things
that get carried around
for fear that we’ll forget.
That stupid fear
that will never clear
and will always leave us upset.

When we lose hope in each other
we lose hope in ourselves
and what crumbles, turns to dust.
And we become those thoughts
that pass right by
in the haze of heat and lust.

And in those moments
when we see too much
and mistake what was meant to be kind.
We take such looks
far past their meanings
like our hearts were growing blind.

Then we torture
our own reflections
through the deals that come with stamps,
then walk alone
where darker skies
meet endless types of lamps.

Ones that glow
from a certain time
that’s marked by how it turns
and they keep us dipped
and convinced of how
we’re somehow more than what can burn.


About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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