Letters and notes

william-michael-harnett-still-life-with-ink-bottle-book-and-letter

Go home all you leeches
Or wait, what?
Now we’re all friends
There’s nothing to see here
Not much being shown
Except a lack of respect
These customs, traditions
Seems to me like time’s turned them to stone
These lives we all lead
Take us further from home

They seen us
and pushed us
Then turned us away
Heard all we said
Saw the things that we did
Laughed like it was funny
Then gave up our lives
Now here we all are; albeit separate roads
Retelling same stories through letters and notes

There’s a man in a basement with his head in his hands
Can’t understand the ways of the world
All the cruel things it demands
Sure he has two eyes but really what did he see?
He saw a knife
Killed his wife
Murder second degree

Dining with retrospect
He lost his mind
Seemed so vivid and clear
He just couldn’t figure
Got nowhere close
Yet no stranger to desire
Spent his life always chasing
Til time tarnished him bitter
Now lost amongst the crowds
He’s back in among the theives
Some say he was sorry
Others say he boast
And wrote it all down in letters and notes

It wasn’t a vision or dream that he had
Like a trees abscission
The scars told the story
When leaves start to fall
Cruel winds go a wander
Past bone-like branches
Of once steadfast trees
Listen to the whistle
No wait…
Maybe it’s a whisper
Only fools lived for glory
Only fools lived for glory

Don’t you remember that tower of trust that was built?
That’s right, neither do I
We would all tell our tales
Look each other straight in the eye
The only question to ask
Is how we survived
Masters at work
Gods at work
Devils at work
If only, if only, if only I could
I’d take up my part and carry your coat
Not pour out my heart in letters and notes

©gretlfeesonpoetry

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