A Waiting Trial

Everybody thinks that they know the solution, most of those too scared to make contributions,

skeletons in closets, insects in the attic, I listen to the radio but all I get is static,

wasted and wounded, though without regrets, I don't kid myself this how hard it gets;

playing out act three as long as I'm able, drink in my hand, feet on a coffee table.

I start to feel down 'cause this year's been a real bummer so I pick up the phone and dial up twenty wrong numbers,

seen a lot of things, been a lot of places but my entire phonebook is a sea of strangers' faces.

How do you get through and be understood and how do you dial when the phone's made of wood?

Halfway up the moutain, looking for a truism but truth refracts like the light through a blue prism.

What will you find here? What are you searching for? And when will you answer that knock at the door?

The banging's too loud, I can't hear my own thoughts, if you don't let them in then I'll have to use force-

of nature, 'cause my energy's nearly subsided; I want to go out there but my mind's divided

in twos the animals went to the ark, I tried to question Noah but he just wouldn't talk,

my first teardrop turned to a biblical flood; the water precipitated, I was covered in mud

but it's good for the skin, or so we are told, maybe I'll learn to avoid getting old.

My youth is transported to a different age and my whole life story to a different page,

as we get to the good bits I get quite excited, but quickly depress on each bad part recited,

stories don't end, they just turn into something - else which is neither a bad or a good thing,

life is in flux and minds are in prisons, though few can appreciate the human conditions -

of sale and purchasing; legally binding contracts, we've no longer time for personal contact.

Connecting with others like a pen through the dots is a scary proposition, makes us come out in spots -

a blemish on your arm can be carried through life, like the horizontal scars on your arm from a knife,

but none of us are armed so how do we defend? Others fight wars, I'll sit back and pretend,

because the war going on in my own mental state, as I push modified food around on my plate,

is a war of attrition, I'm feeling worn out - gradually - but nobody hears my shouts,

so should I shout louder or not shout at all, or should I run head first into a brick wall

but pass straight through it as my particles vibrate - the same axis as earth they follow as they rotate,

turning around I'm faced with a hole, that keeps getting bigger, it's beyond my control.

The hole of  my being starts spiralling upward and I'm left to wonder 'is there food in my cupboard'?

The thought eats away at me, am I really starving? Space between mind and body is really alarming;

I need to unite myself and get it together because on the horizon's a lot of bad weather.

So as I seek shelter, braced against the elements, I remember the words 'there is no more firmament'.

Reviews

[Nicole]

I liked this because I felt like I can relate.
"The banging's too loud, I can't hear my own thoughts, if you don't let them in then I'll have to use force..."
Is how I feel sometimes..
This is beautiful. Thanks for sharing. :)