#28475-J (TW: death)

A short poem I wrote a little over a year ago. It actually has a consistent cadence to it, which is somewhat rare for my writing.

What of any value does he seem to hold? Do you see something under the surface?

He’ll sign it away for pennies on the dime, for what is a man without purpose?

What is a man?

Can you call it a man?

Tell me what is a man without purpose?

I’ll sign on the line

To the army I go

Singing “Uncle Sam, give me a purpose”

Round all the corners on all of the desks

To prepare for the man without purpose

Tell him his body, his mind and his blood

Tell him right now that all of it’s worthless

Try to rebuild what never was there

He’ll be prouder when he is of service.

Give him a number, send him to the desert

and send him, and send him to stay

Oh, what is a man?

As the lead breaks his skin

Can you call it a man?

When his blood gushes out

Tell me, what is a man?

His face blanker than blank

Tell me what is a man who won’t value himself? Who leaves life hoping death gave him purpose

Originally written: 28.08.2024

- SG

As always, constructive criticism and discussion is welcome