Too blue to see anew.
The hue of the light shaft
calved by my silhouette.
Lips wet, yet my mouth tastes of salty sand.
Staring down at my hand,
the one that demands something must stand.
The grand stair of cases
chases my shadow away.
Grey, the clouds of thought stretch too taught,
tied feverishly in knots.
Brought out, the horrors,
flayed from the mind.
Behind, I hear the laughter covering sober fear.
Leering, peering into dust filled shelves, I wonder a curiosity.
Has the past laid my my hopes under the burning lights?
Do they delight in my never-ending fright?
Who now, shall my path alight?
The sill by the window shutters, as does my will.
The fill of my nostrils is bitter still.
Fingering tips of skin, brush the quill
of which I pen every bit of sin.
You'll not win! I bellow to no more than rats and blustery wind.
Turning the precious piece of my soul into words,
mixed in a bowl.
I sit atop the hermits knoll,
Cowl drooping as shoulders slump.
Digits flex, blood pumps.
So begin the tales of tigers and whales,
hailing the hanged man, who ran,
far too long.
The road was wrong.
New days break,
though it's still the same song.
So he stands,
hands steeple,
as he remembers all those people.
Tower grows dimmer,
the dower rise, candles on their eyes glimmer.
Hatred simmers.
For so very long he'd gotten it wrong...
Never did he learn to just change the song.
