An “Exile”

An Exile …


As of late, I’ve tried hard to compile a profile

My comprehension of the life of an exile

This out of bounds lifestyle that many revile

it has become a system I deem worthwhile


No rank and file found here, nor found in a church aisle

The hearthside is considered to be our first child

Every square mile of our brains is covered with style,

with expressions, and opinions being fertile.


While completely related, we are creative,

Translated our ideas are debated

Underrated, our means to be persuasive

We exude a vibe of being embracive


A native patois for exiles, a trait of—

Those trying to be appreciative,

Offering annotated ideas, made of—

seeing the world as being dilated


You may see us in nice boots or a stripe suit

Depends on the tactics we might use

Some words used are abrasive, some might soothe

Ultimately, your nous, we strive to pry loose


We are knights who sip fine wines, and nice soups

Men and women here alive to change my views

Each with a drive to fill the void in my room,

The void shaped by my mood and my youth


I’m selfish, yet some of them I see myself in

Their validation is something that I cherish.

I am jealous, some phrases are momentous

And some leave you breathless, as their scenes develop


Dreams are where the wealth is, perhaps embellished

No matter the case let me dispel this,

Conception equals infectiousness, a freshness

Attained in the mind’s eye, that when shared, it is selfless


Some nights the ear mites come blazing in with insight

Whispering whose pen touched their souls with the ink right

Despite me being picky, if such pens excite

And they just might, then I am in for a good night.


The fire’s ember burns real bright, and leans right

A slight breeze tilts it with the desk fan’s flight

I prep for fist fights or those wise one’s foresight

My recliner adjusted as such for each write


Imparting emotions as occidental arts

Given form, that they may be for the faint of heart

Whether through a contented heart or worlds apart

Each exile comes equipped with a rebellious start.


Each idea had is a la carte, dark and light parts

The gray matter where the mind comparts

I feast on all the flawed hearts thus becoming parched

My eyes glued to each page as they go bloodshot


My name is Paul and an exile I am

I am programmed to give a goddamn

To shock your soul through your diaphragm

your answer to enduring a traffic jam.


A civic rant, or boating the Rio Grande,

exiles outline the wave color near the boat ramp

how power affects the hue of the street lamp

my notepad says “Exile,” that’s my home camp


For more works by this author see Paul Neglia on The Creative Exiles.

You can also see more great work by Paul Neglia on HubPages.


Paul Neglia
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Paul Neglia

Proud father of 3. Part time writer of poetry and short stories. I want to paint the world in but a few words.

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