B-rich

B-rich Dec 2019

Empty porcelain dolls
Wearing pants and a sweater
In the wrong type of weather
Behind closed doors
Their tears hit the floors
Just like a feather
Never to be heard by another
And through cold midnight window glows
Is where red liquid flows
Empty porcelain dolls
In the back of the cave mind there is whys
The echoes have no replies
So in fear they clatter and shake
And they wear pants and a sweater
in the wrong type of weather
Just so you don’t know that they can break
With words and hands misused
Pasts haunt, and futures are abused
And more empty porcelain dolls are produced

About self harm, abuse, fear, and hiding your pain from others.

B-rich Dec 2019

Never grow old

Knees a woblin’
Skin a wrinklin’
Voice a crackin’
With guitar and pick in hand
Oh what a grand one man band
With a sweet and sour twang
Through drying lips he proudly sang
“Never grow old
Never grow old
In a land that we’ll never grow old”
And the congregation listened
And in my heart I wordlessly wished
That there were some things
that would never grow old
Like happiness, kindness, and hope
Sometimes it feels like those things
have died and turned a pale cold
But I walk on knowing that there is still love
therefore I have no reason to mindlessly mope

An old man sang at church about going to heaven where he would never have to grow old.

B-rich Dec 2019

A battle on the farther hill

There is a battle on the farther hill
The enemy carries an orange flickering flag
The ravages of war has brought a dry cloud
And it rains ever drier dry fall leaves
Oh orange flickering flag do not find me
Do not come to my precious home
Do not come to me while I sleep in the night
And surround me with your dark light
There is a battle on the farther hill
Coming for you and me
Brave yellow suits fight for us please
You will surely prevail
And i'll say to the orange flickering flag
Our golden state, you will not melt and sag!

It’s about the California fires or anybody who has lived through a wild fire at one time.

B-rich Dec 2019

Silver moon haired child

I know of a silver moon haired child
Her love neatly filed
But the book of life defiled
In a chair she sat alone
But not for a thing to atone
The chair and her were almost one
With nothing to do for fun
Her breath softly loud
and over her eyes a ghostly cloud
I don't know whether I should pray
Pray for her to see another lonely day
I shouldn't pray for a morning
A morning where golden strands
stretch across the rolling lands
And form warming hands
To take her in, like a fallen baby bird
So no longer would she have to have suffered
Silver moon haired child
I know till the very end you would have still smiled

B-rich Dec 2019

Dreams lost in a phone screen

At one time I would lay on my bed
And look out a window
where dreams I was fed
There’s something wrong about me
but that’s what they said
Until I got fed a big slice of world
A phone I was served
My neck it curled
My eyes it burned
Every hour my mind it surfed
And it was a while before I learned
That my dreams were lost to the glass
back to where they came from, the glass
And right by me I let them pass
Now there’s nothing wrong about me
I’m just like every other *******

— The End —