Wednesday, March 6, 2013

a nostalgic tone

the epic eighties call me back
into the dark beside the tracks
chains rattle, steel grinds against steel
the skies are open, and i feel
the winds of change blow through my soul
which still exists, though not as whole
its shattered pieces sucked straight through
into the portal, shimmering blue
that connects here and now to you
in future broken, remade new
to order, by the devil's crew
whose screeching dreams have become true

i'm underground, trapped in a lair
of sheltered homeless in despair
transported daily to their rooms
where they count hours into dooms
each quietly keeping their selves hid
although sometimes they'll lift a lid
to peek out, stare straight into you
as you observe, they see a few
conceited, righteous, greedy folks
who'd complain of some broken yolks
when theirs are empty basket stews
their solace trapped in cheap foul brews

they don't know who, or where, or why
inside they're warm, out there they die
to think of all this fancy dress
that goes to waste and makes them less
leathers, spikes and face tattoos
big rigs, and boots, nothing to lose
i stomp straight through the post-war dust
to hell or heaven, life or bust
i whistle as i pass on through
a haunting song, and right on cue
the end note pitched, the echoes fade
the pocket's picked, the piper's paid

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