Ward Stories
(Column: Ward Stories)
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Jack Pesin is another internet poet who became real! When Jack first directed me to his website (www.geocities.com/Paris/Chalet/2294/), I was amazed that his poems were so perfect for New York City Voices. But even more amazing for me was learning that Jack was a teenager. This poet is an 18-year-old Manhattanite who is planning to attend Hunter College in the fall. If you would like to read more of his interesting and provocative work, go to his website like I did. I am also happy to call this talented young man my friend!


A Broken Man's Dreams

By Jack Pesin

Losing my mind yet putting on a happy face
pushing the pain down deeper, steeper, steeper the incline becomes.

Worthless is how I think of myself,
screwed over everything that meant anything to me,
tell people not to lash out, and I do anyway
but still the pain; it stays away.

Sleeping in the car four nights a week
so tired I can barely speak
yet I do,
even though I know I come across as connected as some old glue.

Disconnected words and paragraphs that don't make sense
deep coldness in my eyes,
from pushing everything away

In my dreams I am an emperor or simply a good suburban dad.

Missed concepts from not listening,
I see the scissors glistening
just one flick to let that pain out
eight, nine, ten slashes to get rid of the pain for good,
there we go feeling like I should.
Oh yeah baby, I knew I could!
"You knew you could what?"
get rid of the pain
slashing yet another vein
just standing there watching in vain
drifting off to a far off land where there are no feelings to feel
pain and degradation just flowing by in the never ending sphere.

Waking up in a cold sweat,
thinking about all the questions you've had in life
then just for a second everything is so clear and the answers are so near
peering into your fourth glass of beer you mutter,
"Where did things exactly fail?"
of all the answers you've found,
this one still eludes you without a trace,
it just runs on and on,
although it's nearly out of sight,
you can still make out its graceful beauty
all you can do is nod back off to sleep
knowing that the chase will never end,
that you will never quite catch up to that thought you were chasing in your dreams.


Silent Killer

By Jack Pesin


Incredulous desires
fought out in our minds.

Scared of what we might do to ourselves
they lock us up inside our minds shut off from the world,
speak of the Devil they all laughed as we walked into the room.

Staring in amusement as holes burned through afghans
why even bother to call for help
no one comes this late in the story.

They've seen it before and didn't find it funny the first time,
they'd rather stare in the mirror at their own acid scarred faces
than take a break and step aside to see the slight whispers of suicide
whispers that just came too quick to do anything about
six or seven years is fast
blinded by boredom though I suppose
is the only reason for such morose.
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