I can see these needles;
They look like extravagant splinters,
And they consume as they expel.

Something worth saying got stuck
At the clouded window,
And the possibility of change
Just rebounds off the padded walls
Of a comfort cell.

All the best efforts
Mean nothing without success

I can see determination,
It’s as clear as it is difficult to maintain.
Elegance, cleanliness and articulated feelings,
All contained in his shattered reflection.

Dragging his feet in the need of rest;
Swimming beneath the surface is almost
As tiring as climbing out,
And waiting to dry.

Scrapping every week the cycle ends in relapse.
All is nihilism unless you achieve.
No more can he believe himself
That the ashes between his toes are white sands.
Somatic expulsion leaves
Stains of everything promised, again.

In the week, his thoughts mimic hope,
Yet everyday, he knows he’s soon to loose it.
Time moves on but man’s state stays the same.

The wisdom of the aged is only amassed
By those who can remember their days,
And self-esteem is hiding behind
The tarmac beneath his shadow.
He knows it’s there.

Rain hangs from leafless branches
To drop and evaporate,
And fall again.
Even liquid isn’t free.

He hears a funeral dirge when
The lights are dim,
And sees hellish fire
When they are bright.
Lost again, yet without misdirection,

Because his feet will not step forward
Without running back.

September 2010


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