Sunday, June 21, 2009

We All See It Coming, Until We Don't

When we are alone in driving out our demons
We wonder if we can truly call ourselves free men
Standing at the edge of a cliff
Just to get the taste of fresh air
Weeds of thorn and thistle consume my garden
While I become the one uproot
Been lying that there are four sides to my square
Because I can still only find three
Just gave up a little good conscience
But promised more to tomorrow
Needed a little more time to continue my dream
Or just a little less time awake
Keeping my thoughts in my pockets
And can't decide what to do with my hands
Tried belief as a form of relief
But my soul still tastes dry and light
Though the trials have been wearing
I have many illusions left to maintain
So my drawing of you remains a crumpled piece of paper on the floor
Among all my other failed attempts at discovering life

1 comment:

  1. i dunno if you still read your comments (also, sorry it's taken me so long to check in here again) but i wanted to say this poem is amazing. is this a poem you found or wrote?

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