The fear sets in, of knowing how short our time is
The shortness of stride, not a single excuse to prove
That we were meant for this
Everything starts to spin all at once
If you hear something strange in my voice, its conviction
Detest my words, they have no ill meaning…
~*~
Don’t look back on the patience you lost
The blood that’s been wasted, the casualties cost
A strange voice that hides the bad intentions
Though not yours to atone, suffer in perdition
.
Back and forth, the confused marionette swings
Keys of haunted reveries a rusty music box sings
Conviction relinquished to the uproarious applause
What’s yours will be mine, and sever all the loss
.
And I believe that your hands clap for a reason
Just as why thieves walk free and lambs go to prison
If death was a game, then the dice has been cast
Only those caught in the thorns of the throne shall last
.
We move on, we move on, what’s a clock without the ticks?
To warn of oncoming reparations, sounds rather cryptic
Follow the trail of sunshine as it stammers and falters feeble
Heads and tails decision, let the coin land in the middle
.
And if the theatre lights shut down in this city’s comatose
Bow deep and lay upon your mausoleum a dusty merlot rose
Thus holding only the patience that was once yours to have
Now forsaken and lost like a demon in an ocean of gods.
~*~
Oh dear puppet, wake up
And cut the strings before the next show
I believe that this is in your blood
By all means take your place, take your place
Put yourself into this letter, we’ve all had it alright
We dropped the ball.
Filed under Poetry
Tagged as applause, blood, bow, city, clock, concept, cryptic, dark, death, demon, dice, forsaken, game, gothic, last, life, lights, loss, lost, march, marionette, middle, move, patience, poem, poetry, puppet, reason, reveries, rose, show, song, story, strange, surreal, swing, theatre, throne, vaudeville, waste