Mitch
08/06/08, 05:55 PM
Had to ask the mirror yet again
Who I am and where I've been
Had to beg and even plea
To a crooked,
Still life,
Image of me.
Headphones left on rocks and dirt
Come July I'll seek rebirth
My past flies with the crows that cross the Earth
And the chair I'm in goes nowhere back and forth.
On cracked wooden floors that squeak
And swallow all the flying dust.
The golden sticks with a sunshine's shine
Sing a song with the wind's growing wind
Brown barley swaying, grass dancing to rhythm
And for a moment when I take the same old breath
I feel and what I feel
Finally feels real.
Who I am and where I've been
Had to beg and even plea
To a crooked,
Still life,
Image of me.
Headphones left on rocks and dirt
Come July I'll seek rebirth
My past flies with the crows that cross the Earth
And the chair I'm in goes nowhere back and forth.
On cracked wooden floors that squeak
And swallow all the flying dust.
The golden sticks with a sunshine's shine
Sing a song with the wind's growing wind
Brown barley swaying, grass dancing to rhythm
And for a moment when I take the same old breath
I feel and what I feel
Finally feels real.