On the razors edge
Walks a natural man, a social man
yearning to be one, being the other beast he can.
He has passion for, a dream of, a burning desire.
The lady sets his soul, his aching heart on fire.
Her only desire !, to lay them on a funeral pyre,
place them into the yoke of a guillotine,
releasing the blade, she cuts them clean
- his desire, his passion, his love - his dream,
she has – with quick dispatch – severed it’s head
with the sharpness of her tongue / mind, they are dead ?,
these, the man’s love, passion, desire and dreams.
Nothing he has done, does, could do, it seems,
is able to open her eyes, her mind or her heart !
This leaves this foolish old man no where to start
or get past, just being her friend,
realizing that all else will quickly come to an end !
This man carries his love, his passion and dreams,
in quiet desperation, in stilled, stagnate streams
flowing, going no where, by any effort, by any means.
What, from this man does the lady want ?, something !,
for she keeps him dangling, precariously on a string,
( this Saturday fish, no peace of mind does it bring )
slings and arrows at this man, into his heart, does it sting !
This old fool still hangs in, - anticipating – hanging on
until there will be no more, until all is gone,
set adrift, blown by the cold, solar winds of times passing
- passing away – all that might of, could have been.
The realization of passion, desire, love, the dream.
Someday, all will die on a vine, life continues progressing.
B. J. “A” 2
November 9th 2008