Too Good of a Poem For a Title
I awake, I awake
in a morning, afternoon sunset
My eyes sting as they stretch
for the soul.
With cheerful music of a funeral,
which plays afar in a dfferent room,
in a different world than the one
I live in and slowly die in.
The mind is trapped in a white bone
cage, and cries out for a warm embrace,
yet sees the twilight of a moonless night
haunt him in his nightmares he shares
with me, and I sit and stare, thinking.
Caring cries slowly shed tears
down a rough cheek,
yet no one sees a tear,
No one sees a man,
But a boy whose heart is a frown,
whose awaken to a quiet house, in a quiet town,
in a quiet world.
Silent as a burial, which the dead
come too pay their respects.
I awake, I awake
to an evening sunset
searching the heart for the words
blind and foolish in the so-called
Cruel World,
where your blue eyed Death smiles,
and morning sunsets dissappear
with no remorse,
and paint my soul black,
like cancer,
or like a tared road,
which the feet of morning commuters
step one foot, in front of other.
STOMP! STOMP!! STOMP!!!
Like SS Stormtropper's boots
that stomp all over my Heart.
Till the evening sunrise comes,
and I awake, I awake
to a snarl of a beast
and the tolls
of funeral bells.
-10-27-2013-
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013
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