Truth at Hand

Dancing through freeways
Back through the avenue
And the streets we knew –
Singing the songs of life,
The kindred song of life,
Withered voices of brisk winter blight.

Blame me for your esoterica,
Explain me to your soul
And try to understand me.
Blame me for your sleepless nights
And the worm digging in your stomach.

©2003 Joe Jenkins

Note: This can be taken many different ways and the title doesn’t really help. It adds to the irony more than anything. One is very dark and sinister as many of my writings slant; a little different way than most others. It could be explained outright that it’s about a happy reflection and a horrible break-up because someone didn’t understand me. On the other hand, you could see it as a general poem of reflection on both good times and bad with maybe a delve into the thought of esoterica in it’s truest meaning. Take it however you will. I don’t usually explain what I put up, but I felt this one in particular needed a little explaining.

– Joe