Time is What Time Was...He Was What He'll Be

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Another quick-write, very weird, feel free to boo and hiss.


He is complacent.

Suppose he’s just
The man on the road,
Tells himself he’s got nobody
To help him, and
There’s not really anywhere
To go,
Is there?
So he won’t go.
They tell him he’s trash,
So he litters the road.

He is complacent.

Is he nothing but
The bottom of a bottle,
The breather of a rhythmic
Routine set to time with
His truck’s choking throttle,
An empty
Bottle?
So the engine revs.
They tell him he can’t drive,
So he’s ready to crash.

He is complacent.

I have to wonder why
He lets them break him down,
Takes his bitter pills
That they hand to him and say -
They say it makes him better;
We know
So much better.
He will finally swallow,
And feel it deprive.


He’ll be complacent.
He won’t know why.
Reading is one form of escape. Running for your life is another. ~Lemony Snicket




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Heya Story, Gsp here, and I'll be your reviewer for today! Or one of them. I don't know how many other reviews you'll get. But you can be happy knowing that I was one of them.

He is complacent.

Suppose he’s just
The man on the road,
Tells himself he’s got nobody
To help him, and
There’s not really anywhere
To go,
Is there?
So he won’t go.
They tell him he’s trash,
So he litters the road.


I like this. I don't know why, but I like it. Not much to say, really.

He is complacent.

Is he nothing but
The bottom of a bottle,
The breather of a rhythmic
Routine set to time with
His truck’s choking throttle,
An empty
Bottle?
So the engine revs.
They tell him he can’t drive,
So he’s ready to crash.


I love the description in the first few lines. :D

He is complacent.

I have to wonder why
He lets them break him down,
Takes his bitter pills
That they hand to him and say -
They say it makes him better;
We know
So much better.
He will finally swallow,
And feel it deprive.


He’ll be complacent.
He won’t know why.


Oh wow. Lovely ending. All-in-all, this is an awesome poem, and I'm not really a poem person. All-in-all, great description. I love the meaning this poem projects.

Keep up the great work!

~Gsp.
Just another quack spouting psychobabble.

"If I win, I'm a prodigy. If I lose, then I'm mad. That's the way history is written."




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This poem was excellent. It was a little weird as you said, but overall it was interesting. I like the use of imagery, the aspects of a drifter, a drinker--someone who needs to move, who has nothing left, who cares not about the world. I get this weird little poem. I like it and I would like to see more like this one. Good job.
-Dante93



You walk into this room at your own risk, because it leads to the future, not a future that will be but one that might be. This is not a new world, it is simply an extension of what began in the old one. It has patterned itself after every dictator who has ever planted the ripping imprint of a boot on the pages of history since the beginning of time. It has refinements, technological advances, and a more sophisticated approach to the destruction of human freedom. But like every one of the super states that preceded it, it has one iron rule: logic is an enemy and truth is a menace.
— Rod Serling