disconnected

it was after twelve, or two, or three
i called to ask what time it was joking
somewhere between Neruda and Bukowski
there is loneliness to share
returned to sender as an unopened letter

we are all too young one day early,
at the wrong hour
nothing to say with so many words we speak
fuck me until i can love
but my words
i am sent to an automatic voice messaging system
so i wrote it down those words that spill milk
on my bad dreams
and i write afraid of pretending to be alive
in the voiceless night
with out you or myself

— Orphani, May 06, 2010

About This Poem

About the Author

Critiques

Kailashana

16 years 1 month ago

I loved you too much to

I loved you too much to answer that call and so I stayed on this side of the pain of our parting.... we meet again and again in the dreams we are making now, my love... time bends with the words of Bukowski, fucking life, oh, that glorious fucking life! ....until love is all that remains. I love you Barry, ~Anna "The plain man is familiar with blindness and deafness, and knows from his everyday experience that the look of things is influenced by his senses, but it never occurs to him to regard the whole world as a creation of his senses." ~ Ernst Mach

Bonitaj

16 years 1 month ago

"love only knows it's depth

at the hour of departure" - Kibran Boy Barry - this smacks of those emotions an so many other existential anxieties that I just love it! Nice one! Boni

Seren

16 years 1 month ago

Dearest B

You and Annamum should submit all the poems you have written to each other to publish they are brilliant, seriously beautiful poetry thanks for sharing again love and hugs JC p.s my favourite lines and i write afraid of pretending to be alive in the voiceless night with out you or myself ("Quote:-For every beauty there is an eye somewhere to see it. For every truth there is an ear somewhere to hear it. For every love there is a heart somewhere to receive it.-Ivan Panin")