such a dead captain
waiting in line
sort of moment
you can't help
or, know i guess
because you heard my tears from so far away
it helped such a thing
along with your beauty
and your understanding

like the morning light,
feeding off of early risers
feeding off of its infinite power
and sometimes you just slide
along all of that

but it will be okay, things
will change soon enough

even when it's eleven-thirty
and i want to go (back) to bed
and you tell me i can't

because something's wrong and it's not you

that's when i see how soft the world is
a light, a flare of blurry light
shots firing off in the dark

and beauty
there's a truthful way of seeing it all
and i think you have a knack

you show me even what i don't want to see

but needs are so different
like i said, well i never want
but there you go, it's so different to need

(i hear from far away the whirring of the steel and the clear unmistakable erratic desparation of a train's horn warning people off the tracks as if they needed a sign of something new and something totally off center like perhaps a troubled wearied [guess, thought, concept, way] who walks the streets with only less than a bare minimum of foundation or otherwise [it] just walks because [it] has nowhere to go and nothing to do and such a thing alone understands why things aren't nearly as taken for granted as people thought because he understands how ,)

you told me once, that death is a way of life

like i said three years ago
but i never understood it until your words made it true

i'll never live that way again

08/02/2005

Author's Note: That section in the middle bothers me, but that entire sentiment is what I wanted to express as well as everything else. It's hard to write poetry.

Posted on 08/02/2005
Copyright © 2024 Corey Lockaby