Just a little poem I wrote, somewhat my attempt to capture a certain feeling. |
Onward I wander in dimly lit streets, Pass men lying dead in sickening bliss. Pass promising red lips beneath warming red lamps, Pass even the drunk who shamelessly danced. So onward I wander and onward I go. Onward and onward through streets of cobblestone. Onward in dark where night passed to night, Where even the clowns were too dead to laugh, too dead to fight. Like a pointless late dream, a dream without wake, A dream where death so pointlessly waits. Where I wander and wonder the coughing of sick Through streets filled with those whom none shall ever miss. And farther I go, so far and so long, Like worn leather shoes, so worn and so old. My feet start to blister and bleed with warm blood, Yet onward I wander, onward I go. Until my eyes give way to an ending weight And I fall and fall to the stone that waits. A stone that like meadows, soft lullabies, Carry me off as my dream says goodbye. So onward, forever, and onward I go. Onward and onward I sink into stone, Where dreams whispered "meadows" but not hidden with glass, Glass of the streets that start smelling sweetly of grass. Now onward they wander these dimly lit streets, Pass men lying dead in sickening bliss. Pass a man who, like them, onward would go, A man, I must say, that I do not know. Onward and onward they come and they go, Onward they wander, their feet on the grass. Onward and onward through blissful meadows, Where onward I'll wander, onward I go. |