grey and worn
the lawn chair has dead leaves stuck to it
its one bent arm an expression of pained indifference
mud clings to its feet
and a single vine like a thin snake
wraps its way across its frame seeking the sun
i pull at it to set the chair right
to seat myself
and suck at the breeze from the open field
marvel that a cow stands not five feet away
silently watching my every move with a wary eye
lunching on the grass and weed
but the chair now uprooted from its long held position
seems more than ever a proclamation
of mans intent to be seated here on heavens lawn
clear illustration of the intent that you are supposed to
take this bent greasy seat
sit at your leasuire
in the bountiful sunshine
it is one of a dozen in the field
in this beautiful slice of heaven
the lawn chairs
litter the field like broken teeth
set in a line that wanders across the wilderness growth
each having suffered from years standing in the open field
two almost completely consumed by bushes
one had been tossed into the tree
where time had swallowed it into the bark
this broken and brutalized fence of chairs
these lawn chairs of heaven's field
sit in this beautiful place some would say eyesore
i say artwork of life's randomness...
what party of fools once sat here
dressed no doubt for the occasion
then got up from these plastic seats
and left them behind as testament
to that forgotten day...
so i sit in heavens lawn chair
a mute salutation to my unknown compatriots
who painted this pastoral scene
of plastic in a field
I've left behind what was once in line,
Countless demeaning remarks,
All forgotten, except "I'm done trying."
Words won't leave you dying,
It's whats behind them that sting like poison darts.
Every morning on my way to see her, and everyone I knew,
I passed two chairs, translucent, that you could barely see through.
Looking back on it now, after all this time
I can compare the curiosity, compassion,
the peak, and downfall, line by line.
Those chairs endured the most beautiful of days,
to the days where I felt as if I were in a maze,
One day a chair ripped, from the foundation.
I threw away the second one along with it,
One chair was wrong for every situation.
Hours become minutes, when you embark
on each second with no intent on finding out
where you'll end up, without a doubt.
I wonder when I'll get lost,
because I'm starting to regret the price I had to pay,
by refusing to stay, would be the ultimate cost.
during the evening after tea,
we wondered who had invented the chair,
so that we can sit, so, and sew.
perhaps the rock was too hard,
nothing to support the back,
period drama would be
oddly different without the chair.
the conversation moved on to
pumpkins, these days, and
noises made by porcupines.
seems Barry went to see the
the shops were
packed out to-day
everyone was on
a shopping foray
all I wanted
was four dining chairs
but the furniture store
had none of these wares
the shopping experience
is oft fraught with distress
especially when one can't get items
which bring happiness
I'll have to resort
to shopping online
at least there
I can obtain what I so pine
it is time for me
to do a Google search
to find four dining chairs
made out of birch
The trip complete there’s nothing left
Save for the souvineirs.
It was a blast, a welcome rest
I’ll think of it for years.
But here I am at LAX
No dream, no cardigan.
I’ll have to wait a hundred years
Just to lift off again.
Don’t get me wrong the airport’s nice,
The smell is odorless?
The chairs, the chairs, Oh god, the chairs:
The source of my unrest.
I’ll sit and sit and try and sleep
but always: no avail.
The strangers stare, don’t offer help
They watch me as I flail.
The pillow doesn’t offer rest
The armrest pokes me, merciless
My mind white-hot and furious
Just calm down.
Relax your self.
It will all be over soon.
Denied: my only boon.
Reckless could no longer describe us.
Our movements become a pattern, a series of gives and takes.
We've taken comfort in the creak in the floor.
We look for stability in the reliability of each other.
We have forgotten that this is where we started,
but found its never to late to return.
So we may have become
and returned to each other.
Our lives have been worn by the break of each new day,
but we count few ways
to waste our days