the status in the
twilight looms
and lights fall away.
the day turns into
different shades
it gives birth
to a pregnant pause
conceived to
be forgotten
like springtime
before war.
a sleight of hand
a magic trick told
with ancient runes
your heart bleeding
in an empty room
floor full of holes
run through with sand
scrubbed free of rules
surrounded by fences
with busted pickets
drum hits that sounds like thunder
drums that sound like guns
drumming fingers on a bar
waiting for the right
knight to come.
snake strangled by hose
this is the way
tell the world your problems
before someone else does
like death at the wheel
or a jaw removed
like a car full of artwork
stalled and struck
by a train
there is pain in
what remains in fire
and laughter,
slow flames
in equal measures with blame
no one will face you until
its too late.
no fans will meet you at the
pearly gate
this is the way,
the only way
everyone of us pays
for passion plays.
No comments:
Post a Comment