Being Alive
I ponder oftenWhy it is that we are threatened with Hell?If Hell is worse than lifeThen I truly shiver
Does it get worse?No remorse for people crushedNo rebirth for the fetus hushedSing me the song of youthOf innocenceOf true holy beauty
Confusion blinds the seerOf worlds unknownHysteria ripples societyClosing the circleOn youthful artistsWhose only sinIs being alive
Shrieks from the moonEye of nightIlluminate my misty terrorCovering scenesOf true holy beauty
My confusion, a cageImagination, my keyMonster skinned mandolinBaby blue eyesI sense caressOf your thighsOur only sinIs being alive
Does it get worse?No remorse for people crushedNo rebirth for the fetus hushedSing me the song of youthOf innocenceOf true holy beauty
Confusion blinds the seerOf worlds unknownHysteria ripples societyClosing the circleOn youthful artistsWhose only sinIs being alive
Shrieks from the moonEye of nightIlluminate my misty terrorCovering scenesOf true holy beauty
My confusion, a cageImagination, my keyMonster skinned mandolinBaby blue eyesI sense caressOf your thighsOur only sinIs being alive
Copyright © 1989 Sean P. Pratt, all rights reserved
The Origin Story: This is from a period in my life where I was dealing with a messy divorce (at far too young of an age) and no direction in career-wise. I turned to poetry when I was not out carousing with my friends. The poems from this period are more purposefully existential in nature. They also leaned heavily on Jim Morrison and Arthur Rimbaud.