Try to think, of thoughts to pen.
In the silence of the after-day
In the safety of my so-called den.
To feel the feelings inside me
I curl up tight within myself,
To escape the truth of reality
I hold away from all the help
The snake, it bit my shallow skin
Injecting the poison of hurt inside,
It spreads so rapidly, deep within
Spreads like a fire, burning my pride.
Burning all the emotion so deep
The ashes overtake the caves
They're hot and grey, still, in my sleep
Forming new, unknown, volcanic graves.
I see the world; from turning it stops
I see the wind freeze in its course
An autumn leaf- a mid-air corpse
Time it slows, the mind, it bores.
Now as the ink flows through the feather
And colors the processed trees
I can't help but wonder whether
Scores and scratches are all that one sees
The words are missing, the mind is blank
The room is a silence, to nature torn
Yet, noises prevail, machines to thank
The thought process, now overgrown.
No comments:
Post a Comment