Aggrieved Each Nightfall Ad Infinitum

With great effort his essence sought to deny each and every pleasure,

The variety of distractions which his body often found in leisure.

The only actual joy, which his heart would still value and treasure:

Subtle improvements of his dreams, by an incremental measure.

His tormented flesh, called for him to cease;

The endless pursuit, of his imagination`s release.

Still, the objective`s capture, he`d continue to increase;

Despite all the temptations, which plagued his peace.

His social existence was in a barren condition;

No time for any, except personal ambition -

And, while he acknowledged this lonely position,

He did not attempt to make any public addition.

Pouring his entire heart, and every ounce of his soul,

Into the attainment of his one (and only) lifelong goal.

Willing to pay and suffer every single solitary toll;

While in silent solitude, his momentum continued to roll.

He was insulted daily for his foolishly followed aspiration,

Ridiculed relentlessly for his hopeful sense of dedication,

Labeled with many brands for his steadfast concentration;

But, against the endless enmity, still chasing artistic generation.

Comforted by the knowledge: if he died before the vision was achieved;

In heaven, hell, or nothingness – his spirit would be content and relieved.

He felt that, though success might be an illusion which lied and deceived;

Throughout all the doubt and slander, he always attempted and believed.

Composed By: A. D.

Discontent

Keep the illusion of fame and appreciation -

All those fragile, perishable commodities -

Which are subject to decay and deprecation,

The words will take acclaim from the oddities.

Do these verses not fit the political correct cookie cutter?

Do they stick to the roof of your mouth like peanut butter?

Perfect! These words are done searching for any approval,

Please reject them – pending some critic`s poetic removal.

Like a lost dog, they searched for a heart and home;

In ridicule and despair they wandered all alone –

And the domesticated rhyme, searching for acknowledgment temporal;

Has become content in grime, happily savage and ferociously feral.

So, frankly “F*ck validation”, some half-hearted affirmation;

Of their lyrical ability. These poems are now self-sustained

By their empirical capacity – no longer held and restrained,

In the quest for consent (never again to be pent)…

These symbols are their own lone resistance,

Continuing their march, with an unyielding persistence –

Their only purpose, reason, cause, or intent

Is (in their angry, fed-up, focused descent):

To express to others opinions, their utterly aloof dissent.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Sweating Bullets

The poet started out that night with a few simple bars;

Outside his window, the only sound was passing cars.

“Soon they will arrive to torment -

The unseen voices, echoing without relent.

Insults falling in a steady torrent,

Ridicule calling leaving me spent.

To the paper I`ll run and hide,

In it`s leaves I`ll safely abide;

Till the verbal attacks eventually subside,

Within these verses, I must now reside.”

His life and soul, he would gladly return;

If only in doing so, he wouldn`t have to burn.

He tried to smile, all the time, throughout it all;

But the harder he tried, the harder he`d fall.

Keeping the feelings inside each sunlit day;

There they would reside; hidden away.

Each night, voices incessantly insulted him, groups of friends;

Their distant ridicule, which anointed him, knew no ends.  

With only his book to keep him company;

In his solace, he felt, already in purgatory.

He never felt an emptiness, which was so filling.

Slowly, his life`s dullness was becoming thrilling.

A tempest of torment and emotions filled his hollowed mind;

But, an onset of anguish, was the only feeling he could find.

The silence of the night, he had grown to fear;

For in the darkness, the voices became clear.

On this particular evening, after the darkness had set;

Silence was broken, with suicide`s calling, his hearing had met.

Whispering taunts in his sunken ears,

“Do it, you pussy” is all he hears.

Yet, his heart failed to complete the deed;

So, chants continued from the demonic breed.

“You fucking bitch” they, now, repeatedly did yell;

These relentless, restless nights, were his living hell.

 Closing his lids, still hearing their reprise;

And then came the flashes of hate filled eyes.

He stared at them, eyes shut, with a will of steel;

The fear of death, and of violence, he did not feel.

He lay steady and at the ready, to attempt to defeat;

Any demonic or human foe, which he might meet.

With all his might, he attempted to do what is right;

But with violent temptation, he fought a losing fight.

He was tired of being called a fearful coward;

His inert raging energy, had now been powered.

Up from his bed, his body was furiously sprung;

Like a bullet from a recently shot, smoking gun.

His hand grabbed the closest makeshift weapon.

From that night`s battle, he would not run.

A knife and a bat, infuriation - tremors in his hand

To their death, he would send the incessant band.

It was 3:30 am, and he was on the concrete;

No intention, or ideas, of peaceful retreat.

He saw not a shadow of a person in sight,

Met only with the sounds of the dead of night.

So his eyes filled with a flood of tears,

Experiencing - the worst of all his fears.

For all the visions and words the voices said;

Were only the ruminations, and creations in his head.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Penance

Wrongs are constantly rubbed into a criminal`s face.
The sound of a faucet, the onyx dust stings like mace.

Washed away with liquid fire,
Burning and scaring in the mire.

Exasperated, two worn soles;
No emotion in the socket holes.

Except, loneliness and barren regret;
Every memory, wishing to forget.

Perceived by all as arrogant, and naive;
Wishing his mortal essence will leave.

Unforgivable, misunderstood, misrepresented;
Each purposed crime, doubles, not relented.

Thoughts trickle, then race; through his mind.
Haven`t all committed a crime of some kind?

As if criminal spends every day, maliciously attempting,
To conjure ideas to drive the citizen into retreating.
Like the grim, taunts, anger, abuse, jeers and shit falling
Into the drain, so too the criminal feels hope depleting.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

Each Day Is New

Sometimes people will pass, laugh, and insult;

If you let them affect you, what is the end result?

Some may claim they want to fight, by why even begin to fear;

If they truly wanted to dance, why does only chatter appear?

(I know avoidance seems like cowardice,

There are times when, even I feel like this).

Avoid, (unless they attack you)

Even if it makes you sad and blue;

If you fight and maybe win, you lose

For your hands will still receive a bruise.

Don`t let them get you down, with words;

Leave the squawking, for the arrogant birds.

True strength is not in the hand,

But in the will at your command.

Smile when it`s darkest out;

In the cold, lonely, black night.

For, if you do, when the dawn comes about;

The new day will never be as bright.

Do not fear the end,

For it will have it`s way;

Only try to spend

In good time, your time today.

Above all else -

Be of high hopes and good cheer,

When unhappiness does appear;

Cause when joy you outwardly send,

You`ll find happiness becomes your best friend.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker

No Answer

Pacing, smoking this cigarette;

Heart-racing, concerned with control: feeling inept.

Subtle suicidal injections, causing a feeling of forget -

 And yet, the mind; in jest, shuns this life full of regret.

And time slowly burns…

The soul yearns, desperately;

To learn the geometry.

One plus one equals two,

There is some sense of symmetry.

And time slowly burns…

Three divided by one equals three;

But what does that mean to each, individually?

Is a truth inert, actively true?

Questions burn; like this cigarette, unrelentingly.  

And time slowly burns…

Dissonance, divesting inner sense, till spent – utterly.

Life`s destructive beat, amplified by ever moving feet.

Passerby’s stare at sleep

Deprived and bloodshot eyes;

Unaware of the facade and disguise.

The genuine lies within deep:

In honest solitude before restless sleep;

Tested, tormented, tired eyes weep.

None hear the screaming heart beat!

So in silence, an elevated mind, strives unrelentingly.  

And time slowly burns…

Inebriated! Not from a weed; known paths treaded pleasurably,

High on a need.

Mendel with a seed.

Immersed in an unrehearsed rhyme; traversing purposefully.

And time slowly burns…

On a search for the genetics and chemistry,

That envelope the frame of mind.

The elements are searched, low and high;

And yet the equation z n+1, doesn’t reveal why;

There lie unknown variables, in each exhausted sigh.

And time slowly burns…

Will, sweat, and tears; the answer nears.

Fears and dreams approach in equal measure.

Days, months, and years; the fogging clears.

A wondrous sight, a pleasure, like the view unearthed treasure.

Yet, deceptive perception

Shows the report:

Some immortal suggestion,

In which there is a new question.

And time slowly burns…

And though like a cigarette, we slowly burn each day,

When we leave, we live on through those who stay.

And time slowly burns, the cigarette is tossed away.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker