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Stress Fractures - Andrew Lewis |
NOTHING
TO SAY
I will walk the cobblestones a thousand miles, standing beside Longfellow with nothing to say. Gazing at the remnants of God's favorite soul, feeding on thoughts that spill fourth like wine. Paying the price with nothing to say. It borders on obsession how I chase after lost time, freeing myself from a lifetime of chains Alone in a room with nothing to say. A silent film beauty catches my eye in a town of dark faces where we only look up with nothing to say. A shadow god beneath a noonday sun losing identity as the colors all change. I'll raise my glass with nothing to say. I see a line of cars a hundred long and the furrowed brows of discontent, a realization out of the clear blue sky and a smile crossed her lips with nothing to say. We're here for a moment and it's all that we know. I leave as a memory as easily forgotten, a drop of rain blown by the wind. A fading dream with nothing to say.
Awake from a dream to a new life and times where a chill wind whips around power lines like the cracking of whips. These are the new hours where the sun is at it's brightest, reflecting from frozen puddles dotting the asphalt landscape. Crossing the bridge on an afternoon drive with the clouds, like mountains, climbing from the horizon full of unreachable peaks and valleys that fall forever. My mind is clear in this strange hometown with block after block of parking lots and the silent frames of dead and rusting delivery vans. My thoughts float high above me as I look without seeing. It's a different feeling today, like maybe life is a series of random moments spun into the greatest mystery, and some days the haze separates and you can clearly see the pattern.
I'm walking in the afternoon, the wind is at my back. She sun shone down in lazy pools upon the railroad track. I hear the whistle blowing somewhere down the line. Everybody going somewhere, I guess I'll get my time. Seems that I've been waiting here forever and a day looking for an answer but the questions gone away. Looking for a meaning to the way I feel inside but finding all the doors are locked, you can't say I haven't tried. I see some children playing in a schoolyard made of tires. Their voices laugh upon the breeze like the sweetest choir. There's something in that moment that's forever meant to stay but in time the world has it's turn and takes it all way. So I keep moving forward where the road I'm on will lead and though I don't know where or when, I'll find the answers that I need. I'll sit beside the old oak tree, evening's shadows come too soon. I'll say goodnight to you my friend and fall asleep beneath the yellow moon. The Last
Poem
I Will Ever Write |
