You move like a battle-line,
a receding advancing melee
of bloodshed and chaos.
So much tragedy, and feeling,
encased in a small area of strife.
Squinting eyes, through fogged glass,
try to make sense of right and wrong.
But this is all wrong...

Shadows of past mistakes
heavily weigh themselves,
a burden on your mind.
As the clock
ticks.
......ticks.
.........ticks.
Never one to question.
Gifts recieved, packaged
in you at birth.
Shown early, and often.
The sum total of you...
the expectation of all.

Hanging on, with steel
glinting grips. As if
a world spinning, lost,
would be the result
if you just let go.
Where are you tonight?
Did you think about tommorow?
Blood in your fingertips
pounds, clinging to the
phone debating the call.
Because to call, is to care.
And distance is safest
when gravity is too strong.

So a dial-tone sounds,
night absorbing this
oft' repeated testament
to loneliness.
It gets better...
But it's still all wrong.

01/20/2004

Author's Note: I'm considering making this a song with the last verse being the chorus...

Posted on 01/21/2004
Copyright © 2024 J. P. Davies