voice outside, is a breaking silouhette
of sound. It crashes on my ears
and i can picture her face, just beyond
my door. A smiling face, with glistening teeth
She is voicing so many beautiful phrases
so much lovely noise.
But i probably cant hear her.
I am just sitting
on a gray chair, its legs
bent and chaffed, she has come
to complicate me. Blood
poors from raining eyes
she paints her pictures of me

But my view was never used,
it still lays a battered and beaten
voicless light, filled with dust
Like some dayless parade, marching
to the end of some station

nothing is the same however
all the things i thought
that were secure, in a safe place
glowing with their own internal life
have now been shriveled by
the harsh lite of reality
the veil that covered is now
shredded and torn, laying
in a listless pile

10/01/2001

Posted on 10/01/2001
Copyright © 2026 Travis G Finborg