it's coming down
these two hours are crumbling
joining the unmasked white ash
of the last eight years
and i'm surprised that
my blood isn't concrete
because cold cement
cannot tremble or sing
only break

and i am not yet in pieces

when i awake
time may still prove
that it is a road
and not this hellish treadmill
of the same war
and the same bottle
and the same lies
and the same dead
but a naked road
screaming for hope
to make new footprints
for life to follow in

because i swore
when i saw the balloons fall
that those palest cadavers
would kill us all
to use our blood for pavement
and feast upon our dreams
then time was a nightmare
for eight years i've been sluggish
with dull grit dripping from my mouth
slowly petrifying
from the inside out

but i am not yet in pieces
and i have not yet begun to fight

11/03/2008

Author's Note: Vote.

Posted on 11/04/2008
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