The fleeting time we get
seems too shy to share.
When we know that our
words alone would fill
a thousand times over
that small amount of air.
All we need to say would
spill over the sides. A bathtub
can't contain our tears, an ocean
could try, but it would be just
a glimpse. at those reflective tears
below the skins surface.
All too much to share.
The old cigarette burnt
blanket of anguish,
under which we languish,
too afraid to witness the light,
showing the cracks
that have worn into our faces.
Cut down into bite-sized tasters
of what was once a life,
now just hors d’oeuvres
for the worms.
As we mourn
each and every
passing day,
like a procession of funerals
all marching our way.
The big, vast spaces of the clock.
The echoing caverns between every tick
and every tock, are still not enough.
The words rang out so true,
but there was always
a barrier of time
in all we ever did
or could ever do.
So, we try, to cram so much in.
Every thought splitting
lips as we recount them,
every insight we bite down
but they break through teeth of glass.
Every word shatters the splintered air.
Until we have poured a half
of our emotion out there.
But the other half
has already started to refill
the empty space left with all new
thoughts to spill.
Was it all that we just become
trinkets of special days.
Fridge magnets of get aways.
Cheap displays of where
we spent a heap of money
escaping reality.
Just pieces in some vast cosmic game.
Instead of spending time
making memories, we focused on what ifs
and unfulfilled promises.
So much of who we are,
is now down to what we wear,
The things we buy.
Not those brittle brilliant lights
that we burn upon sullen painfull skies.
Thanks for reading
Please take a few moments
to check out my new book "Poetic Outlaw"
available from Amazon
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CVQ5F9K8/
No comments:
Post a Comment