Monday, July 25, 2011


Poem by Marc Aupiais

Is that a word!

I wonder,
At the smudged pencil room!
Light in rays from the pencil lamp!

Like cross-hatch!
But smudged!

And my tears smudge the paper more!
As blackness enters my drawing eyes!

As though!
As though in greatest joy!
Not a single sadness and regret!
Always rising black star,
A white star on a black mare!
And white socks for feet!

And joy you take!
As though I'm not there!
I don't exist!
Forgotten! Not there!
My problems, not real!
My hopes to be avoided,

I watch from a distance,
You always enjoy there!

And act as though I don't exist!

And act as though I don't exist!

And act as I don't exist!

A drawing on a painting,
In a book, sketching book,

And around me appear cross-hatch angels!
That comfort me,
Cure my wounds,
Oils here and there!

It's like I don't Exist! Forgotten! Over there!

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