My simple poem

My simple poem,
You are rather mundane.
But you chose me,
Made you mine,
Made me yours,
For those few moments
When you were being composed.

The *est

It could have been the happiest day, the deepest insight, the best sex, the saddest song, the fastest ride, the strongest feeling.
But I was thinking, looking at the ground; you were in a hurry and did not really notice me. 

It does not have to be the *est. Good is good enough.
But when our eyes met, we absent-mindedly smiled politely and walked on. Only the tiniest pang of doubt: “Am I missing something?”

To Sadness

Dear Sadness,

Sorry, I suppose I am being ungrateful. I am all upset and whiny and craving attention, and here you are - practically chasing me. And what am I doing? Ignoring and avoiding you. Instead of appreciating your company and just being with you for a while. Do you have something to tell me? Something that would change my life? Or something funny? Or more likely sad?

Hey, why does it have to be about me? Do you simply want to be acknowledged and loved? I guess we all do.

IOU

I owe you to have nothing to lose,
To let you be.
I owe you me.

Capture transience

How can you capture transience?
With ink? melody? unrequited love fantasy? train ride?
Why would you want to?
Isn’t captive transience just another burden?

So brief

So brief

Only just begun and - poof!.. gone
Not giving you a chance to get bored.
Was it even noticed? Would be missed?

Unfinished poem

How do you know if a poem is unfinished? Maybe that’s all it wanted to say. Or maybe it lost interest, got distracted, gave up… or still waiting for something? Maybe it likes ambiguity, leaving things open to interpretation, and it’s all by design. Would it change the way you feel?

Time is money

They measure you, allocate you, “buy” you, “borrow” you, “steal” you, trade you for money and other imaginary benefits - you, one of the few things that is unquestionably real. They think that by portioning and selling you they make themselves rich. But they are robbing themselves, because each of them could have all of you... all the time.