Written On a Blackboard
Life is vaguely like a blackboard
whose words have all been erased,
a song played in the wrong chord,
wearing leather when it should be lace.
How much chalk will we need
to rewrite the truth of our alibis?
How much more must we bleed
before we're able to confess our lies?
Chalk is weak and is easily broken.
Snapped in two within a man's hands.
We're sensitive to words ill-spoken
that rob us of our dreams and plans.
We wear the cap of the school room dunce
who sits alone and punished in the corner.
The fool for losing the love we had once.
Great is the sorrow of a chastised mourner.
Our reservoir of tears fills an ocean and a sea.
Our sad faces masked in perpetual frowns.
There is no safe haven to which we can flee
until it's time to take the blackboard down.
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