The Lost

Well, here we are again,
Over a beer and joint,
Solving the worlds problems,
Or at the least whining
Good and hard about it,
What a fucking waste,
I mean,
Talk about applying yourself,
Negative this and that,
Accomplishing sweet dick,
Nothing to show for your effort
But several hundred dead trees,
And writers cramp to boot,
You, this friend of frustration,
This, self professed poet
Competing for ear time,
In an ill fated quest toward
The back shadowy corner
Of a dusty library shelf,
Designated sitter,
Of bitter sweet contempt,
And perpetual contemplation,
Yes, here we are again,
Same shit, different day,
Another night,
Another round table,
And just one more little fable,
Closer to obscurity,
Searching through the darkness,
For, who knows what,
And having one hell of a trying time,
Yes, here we are again,
The lost.