The cry was deafening
when the heart bleeds
the soul weeps
in the distance
you can hear the music
the dirge has begun

skies were blue
the wind moving the limbs
ants are marching a line
building an effigy for no one
in the next valley
the same

dusk brings radical change
the sky lights up like fireworks
confusion settles in
the air is rancid
dark and the taste of death

what once was is not now
what is waits to be called
hinging in the balance
nature cries
the earth weeps
it's heart bleeds

I was named after my grandfather
my mother came from the south
I grew up with dreams
dreams were my television


youth took its toll
I may be bruised
but I am not scarred
the fire within
are dreams of old

the final chapter is not written
and I have yet to pick up the pen
waiting to see if others
are desiring to write

the dreams are there
they are crying out for existence
the music has begun
but I think the dirge is yet
to be heard

07/18/2008

Posted on 07/18/2008
Copyright © 2024 Mark Maxey