A poem about both depression and an environmental poem. |
Hair starts to fade at a younger age as the spine turns blacks and shatters. With broken glass and diamond shards; we laugh the lucky feeling away. You can only take a glance at the morning light before the acid and flames remove skin from bone. There's a chance that somebody may change the tune; but the crowd doesn't look till the tragedy rocks; broken men on broken streets – waiting for their lives to move in the right way. They try to sing a hopeful song but the heart doesn't trust what the lungs insist; get your ribcage of display. The more you have the more you stand to loose; we wait for attention and chant in dulcet tones. Definition always changes with the social mood - we pretend to suffocate to break the silence, the world stops as cameras flash. How do you know the feeling until you starve? Blisters break through crusty flesh; the tarmac ropes that bind the world together – if it feels to good then it probably is but nothing has gone wrong yet. Money crushes smart ideas and the ink in the world can't scrawl out a younger life. There is no living when the ceiling melts; hope and belief appear in desperation. He was obsessed with boys with grace and style; with wood-chips and sour blood staining the knees that sided with the floor. Every mirror is arranged to reflect the brighter side; talk all you want, but it's only talk. It's not an excuse for running away; dwell on past excuses as worlds collide; all the coins fall through fishing nets and out of skeletal hands - trust on eyelashes and smiles to escape the accusing minds. And the children look to the moon and wonder where the dark has gone; the moon, brighter than ever, fights the fire like it is something special. Love is not something special if it ends in this. Paper men in paperbacks burn in the crossfire; with ideas in ink disappearing in the ash and loam. When knowledge doesn't feel as good as memory and we wonder where the world has gone; it was easy feeling righteous before everything started hurting. It takes one thing to change your mind and none to kill the earth; we hold high hopes that things could be different – is that so wrong? We watch the birds melt in concrete ovens as everything fades to black. |