Reach
Reach
You have no poetry in your heart
No appreciation for art
You were born looking backwards
from the start
Even tiny whispers
tear you apart
You blow to and fro
with the slightest wind
you think of stuff but never begin
Is it my sin that makes your heart thin
it looks so substantial
yet it's made of tin
I press a little
you push back
hurting you not my intention
still you think you're under attack
I wish I could remove
that monkey from your back
But he's holding on to tightly
with his hands gripping your sack
Others have left you
lost and all alone
You insist on being on your own
I know, I know
some hurt goes deeper than bone
Tin sounds like thunder
when you bang it with stone
You think it's better to scare them away
so how can you or them atone
You sad lonely little man
apologize, reach for the phone!
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2017
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