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Nov 2013
the clouds have a rift
that bleeds sunlight
down on the thought machine
that grinds a steady pace
of meat upon which the bearded wisemen must chew
only they can interpret the bones cast
like oracles of old
only they can see the fates
so i rise and step carefully through the empty door
thinking that it once held such promise
the morning is rampant with people
and id rather not speak till
i have a grasp on what im not thinking
so i retreat to the filthy carpet of her hole

the muttering continues into the night
and no matter how many times i step to the hall
he just stands there and speaks toΒ Β the window
open and blowing soft
he tells the night
that hes not frightened anymore
he will do that till dawn
then he will crawl to his screaming bed and try to sleep
nothing prepared him for the slow torture test that hes been dealt
keep on keeping on till you cant keep on no more

she walks in and shakes off the rain
scattering droplets of her passing
she looks at me with open questions
but the closed fist of her mouth speaks louder
than any words she could muster
they strike my mind with painful reality's that
have never seen the light of day
she just made them up to justify
and i make it clear that i wont stand for it
as i lay here and absorb her verbal fantasy's
wish sometimes i could be like him
and just whisper the world away
dream away the words

in the hallway of the building
on the vast ***** white tiles
she absorbs the nights festivity's
with the jaundiced casual hand of a lifelong soul thief
with the barrenness of a wasteland for a heart
i look upon her with growing need to
simply let loose and walk away
this is no place for me
for i am alone
a white is black get back you yiccky yack
mark john junor
Written by
mark john junor  59/M
(59/M)   
651
   --- and GaryFairy
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