Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Billy Gray Jun 2013
The man in blue with his head raised high
Fires his pistol toward the sky.
He does not ask why.

Blurred upon a canvas, and cast out from the town
He does not look down.
To catch a glimpse of irony, before she turns around.

No meaning or conclusion, as fades his hope.
At odds with still delusion, too far gone to cope.

His path once paved with clarity, now stained with black
Each step that pulls him forward, another drags him back.
Only himself left to attack.

Far off course with no remorse, too insane to breathe a sigh
Or even try.
She waits with them in paradise, for when the time draws nigh.

Alone in a desert of the mind, with his sanity so abused.
All those he left afflicted, all those who's pain he used.
All those who left him so amused.

Its perverse. The meaning in this verse.
With nothing left to comprehend, all is left to be dispersed.

He see's now the price that he must pay
For all those grief stricken, who's love he took away.
Before his path concludes, before it leads astray.

Reach his arm toward his temple, and block out the light
With no cause left to struggle, and no reason left to fight
He moves his finger slightly, to find a world of night.
Billy Gray May 2013
A sea of stones hosting life of their own,
Put on display to honor the lives that are gone.
Hundreds of stories locked away in the archives,
Overlooked on a weekday afternoon.

A melody of silent ballads, still played by those who are left.
And written in the pages of everlasting text.

The wind still sings for those who are forgotten,
Who still walk among the notes of the song.
Forever, until all is said and done.
Billy Gray May 2013
A November wind stirs up the road before us,
we still don't see the leaves falling

We laugh and cry amongst ourselves,
and hear not the silent whispers calling

The twilight dawn caresses our echo_
And carries it away into the misty abyss
Billy Gray May 2013
Only fires burning bright,
will glimmer in the dim of night.
On the edge of the forest where the river is red,
where faith and reason both are dead.
In ecstasy the invalids run astray,
into the circles where the shadows play.
Of silhouettes dancing in the earthly mist,
raving naked with sanity dismissed.
Running wild in ceremonial haze,
with eyes made of ***** and hearts of clay.

Their lonely fires burning bright,
cast smoke rings off into the night.
Whilst the ancient forest is oblivious to their undertakings.
And watches the smoke pass out of sight.

— The End —