The Eternal Snafus

Don’t feel like home. He’s a little out.
And all these words elope. It’s nothing like your poem.
Putting in. inputting in. Don’t feel like methadone.
A scratching voice all alone It’s nothing like your baritone.

It’s nothing as it seems. The little that he needs. It’s home.
The little that he sees. Is nothing he concedes. It’s home.

One uninvited chromosome. a blanket like the ozone.

It’s nothing as it seems. All that he needs. It’s home.
The little that he frees is nothing he believes. It’s home

Saving up a sunny day. Something maybe two tone.
Anything of his own. A chip off the corner stone.
Who’s kidding? Rainy day. A one way ticket headstone.
Occupations overthrown. A whisper through a megaphone.

It’s nothing as it seems. The little that he needs. It’s home.
The little that he sees is nothing he concedes. It’s home.
And all that he frees. A little bittersweet. It’s home.
It’s nothing as it seems. The little that you see it’s home.

Kids at play. With innocent tone
Shouted..
The cheese always stands ‘alone’

You do it halfway. He dropped his strings by a full tone.
And the music so created, did justice to his poem.

Another attempt. Conscience clear
Turned futile. Never made him his own
What came out?
Something harder than a stone.

Hurdle cleared, nice and fine
1520 was the number
But..
There was something he disowned.

The storm abated, he was calm.
He lost something… a feeling.
He’s let go and wants to go on
And on and on and on…

With this in mind.
Three people to look up to.
Realises that to something, he is not prone.

It’s nothing as it seems. Everything he needs, it’s home.
Every fucking thing was a delusion, the only thing he owns, it’s home.

Extension of Ament’s musings. Damn! There is something I can relate to…