Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Put to Task

I worshipped the feet below this cloud,
A backwards example of melancholy,
Torn asunder by miniscule people in big boy pants,
They wanted to fly, but failed to sprout wings
Even upon those that they forced out windows of skyscrapers
The pawns that they kept smashed under their thumbs.
But amidst it all is the disrespectful
The life beaters,
Forcing the joy out of the willing
Those who wanted to become something
And took in the lie of the big machine
Even those who willing took the knives against the innocent
They took their joys away
In the final hours we wish for more
In the final waking moments we want some kind of sign
A signal from on high, perhaps
But we should stop begging for chances to change it all around
Because we only seek to find solace in the things we hated
Whent he things we hated become our only options.
But in this cynical sky,
There is a silver lining
And golden rays of sunshine
But you have to pass through the fog
You have to pass through a raging storm
And lose track of all your patience
And rush in head first
But to be honest,
Not everyone will find it.
They will chase the carrot on the string
Dangling from the end of a stick
Attached to their heads
Hands extended forth
And trying wildly as if grasping for straws
and in the silence of their fall,
Nothing.