November 6, 1977
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
Poem for the New Year 1978
The dreams we held so dear Were real once, this I swear I could look ahead and see What the future held for me. I would don my graduation robes And reach out for diplomas. But in six short years I lost my hopes With crazy times and blackout comas. Downfall - there, It's a tough word to write. I don't like to think about it - I don't like to talk about it. I bravely face the next panels In our comic-strip of reality But I can't read the whitewashed Balloons beyond the next line. Downfall - here we go again. It isn't an end to those long-ago Hopes That we so gravely wish'd Would happen...No It was the farthest thing From our mind. But maybe it was all so easy then A problem was whether or not You'd be able to make it to The FOOTBALL GAME Not whether or not You knew where your next meal came from Before the Poetry stopped Before I ceased to function. Causes? Reasons? In my CHRISTIANITY period, I Remember I said I was losing the Problems, and so I was losing the urge to be problematical in poetry. This, of course, is not true. What is the truth - HA truth - Searching, always searching the escapable truths, They were always disappearing Around the next corner. And I would trip on the sidewalk They're all gone now, those truths. Where is the program? I can't tell the players. The intermission is almost over. And it was played for laughs. Now those hopes we once held so dear Disappear as quickly as the seventh beer. They just disappear. Then there is no fear And I shed a tear. And wait for Act Three. If this is a comedy it Has a happy ending - It has to.
copyright 1999-2004 by Michael F. Nyiri
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