Nothing To Laugh About

Why do I feel the way that I do
When I’m upstairs in my head
When the world comes crashing down upon you
I should be laughing instead

But what is there to laugh about
When the whole world is crying
Just a smile won’t help anymore
The world needs something
But I don’t know what it is
At least I know I need more

Just to be happy is all that I ask
And not to feel dead inside
The frown on my face is only a mask
I’m putting it all aside

But what is there to laugh about
When the whole world’s in self destruct
People just don’t understand
Well I can procrastinate
And just sit and stagnate
I’m just washing my hands
Of what we just don’t understand

And I Dreamed It Was Real

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of something of yesterday
Applying what I know to something of today
Dreaming dreams that only memory can envision
Such is a time of only indecision

And I dreamed I saw a man who had fallen
And I dreamed he was battered and broken
And I feel for that man every time I see him
Though he’s just a memory to me now

When I think of all the strife and hardship I’ve endured
You realize that simple things, should not be ignored
But I remember how it was and will not be again
Yes I admit that I submit, to myself be friend

And I dreamed I saw myself who had fallen
And I dreamed I had battered and broke him
And I feel from the pain, yet I dare to explain
Of a time of self destruction

Who and what we are, is what we do
Who and what you are is up to you
I am one who learned from my own discretion
Rather than curl up and die with no reaction

And I no longer dream this distasteful distraction
And I no longer dream of repeating my actions
For I am that man and the dream was real
For I am that man and I am here to reveal

By: Donald B. Dousharm

DEDICATION:

I was reading a story from a friend and thinking about my own experiences and decided to pull one of my poems for this particular post. When I wrote this I was living in the woods with nothing but nature for shelter. I used my hands and skills to create a safe haven for my dwelling. He has inspired me to quite possibly write my own story one day.

I would very much like to dedicate this poem to a friend. He has lived through a hell that only the experienced can describe in such detail. He is a Writer and a Human Being in the most profound sense of the word. I am proud to call him my friend.

Please read about his experiences in his own words.

The Hobo Days