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A Poem by RobertRonnow


Author: RobertRonnow
Created: November 04, 2015 at 07:46 am
Upload Type: Poem, E (Explicit Language)  
Category: Free Verse | Writing | General/Other
Upload Stats: 1 comments and 159 views

Is it stress

Is it stress,
or loss, despair and survival
we must discuss.
                             Stress is just the symptom
of a universe intent to destroy the individual
before it births new life. It sends the dogs
after us, after the holocaust, in the tattered ruins
of our city.
                  There is this despair and expectation
of destruction, but somewhere there is still also
simple sky blue,
flowers among railroad ties,
true love between sexual partners.

Is it sex,
or love, companionship and reliableness
we must expect.
                           Sex, nothing but laying my head
at your cunt, can interest me sometimes. Your legs
lead to a pleasure that seems infinite and smells
perfect.
             So there is this tenderness, a connection
like a suction to the biological that is ephemeral
as snow on the ground,
one elk in aspen,
death and nothing less.


© RobertRonnow - all rights reserved

Author Notes


www.ronnowpoetry.com


 
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Comments & Reviews



ALEXJLOCKWOOD
November 04, 2015
Helpful? Thumbs UpThumbs Down
Humans are such odd creatures. I feel stress is something we inflict upon ourselves. Because we can get worked up, when we don't actually need to. Admittedly, the faster pace of life today doesn't help. But it we pace ourselves, may might realise we have more time than we think.


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