A tired man mutters so he can't be heard: "It's all shit."
Yet his pen doesn't rest
Unloved, it sovles every puzzle
In a hurry to every end
Done. he's done, and he's on the next one
He is a tall testament to waste
and the further he down he goes
the less he wishes to be right
he curses the day, and he smokes at night
a tooth here, a tooth there
the tired man wheezes: "Damn wanderer."
the one who wakes as tired sleeps
he thieves old memories from tired sheets
a heartless crime
when all the new ones die in heaps
I gave smiles and nods
the most pleasant soul alive
as i watched ink spiral
blue loops circling into one another
made flawless by repetition
it was a pure, blue eternity, but it wasn't overhead
it was sealed away, soaked up by dry paper instead
forgotten by the tired hand that wrote it
remembered by aimless eyes that loathed it
He didn't hear the great collapse that fell behind his house
but soon enough his brother was there to timidly lead him out
and show him the accidents and those who weren't lucky
and all of the kind ones there to make their pain short
two had a bad fall
then it was three, and they fell a bit further
The one in the middle cried: "My hip!"
muffled screams still woke the neighbors
but they settled and faded as kindness opened up his cage
lifting him very far away to be mended for another day
But the tired man never saw
he saw nothing and remembered less
the poor man that never knew
the taste of homemade macaroons
(the storebought ones are tasty too)
but he'd lost too many teeth to chew
so they leave him behind
the wanderer takes them
he points his hands and eyes to the western sky
and he watches
frozen fingers and chapped lips pray
for him to go inside and stay
because his shoulders feel a weight that betrays
but for him there is no other day
his roof is just a luxury
that hides the beauty that he needs
so he risks wearing down
down he goes
quoth the tired man: "Don't get old."
short lessons said as if he knows
of hell, that's where his memory goes,
and he claims to know water, and repeats himself daily
"Water does not wish to feed you, only fall"
so we're shielded by walls, but they stand too tall
and they fail
now we swim hard to escape it all
the wanderer climbs to meet his western sky
with a quiet crow there at his side
that had a reasuring eye
but was no guide
It knew nothing more from equal time
no longer aimless, he risked wearing down while moving up
not a wanderer anymore with eyes fixed on the western sky
He knew it held a spot flame
a fire he could not carry
waiting there, invisible to his eyes
it challenged him in long steady breaths
and allowed him the shortest answers
why? what are you?
Is it a point to prove? or a prayer to pray?
the sake of a memory for another day?
a sign to see? a life to lead?
a beating heart and newborn's screams?
He stopped it there: "Yes."
So it's a common life you seek
but what are you?
and what if those are a fox's screams?
you'll be decieved by hopeful dreams
you'll kill yourself with love and hope,
embrace your neck with joyful rope
with blind bleeding eyes you'll claw
for something solid, sure, and certain
you will come back
and you will-
He interjected: "No."
You will!
and suffer in naivety
and choke on pleasure's brevity
fool's lips blow on a broken flute
and you dance. what are you?
dance until you wear down
wear down until you die.
He swallowed then he spoke: "Alright."
The tired man laughed and caughed
gagging on his own surprise
lost his grip on the last bit of pride
and consented: "That's that."
then he died.
and with him, the stories he loved to repeat
and the bit of knowledge he hadn't lost
to the circles of blue which had finally stopped
All locked away inside a vault
the key to which was gone
something no one tried too hard to find
the wanderer had chosen life
He gave up rooves in favor of rain
and didn't mind clear or cloudy days
the trash was as important as the trees
He created, but knew he was not god
and they wrapped their invention with modest cloth
so that it felt warmth and some cold as well
they gave little comfort when it fell
its falls and steps were to be loved
all the same
some stories new, many more heard a thousand times
all the same
some memories stolen, others honest made
and hard earned time lost to the rain
indistinguished, all the same
there's beauty in that western flame
but its words are predictable
all the same
they lie because they fear your pain
and were never made to take your blame
so they talk of a cracked flute playing
people dance, people die
all the same
What are you?
He exhaled: "Free."
Home 
