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journey to the self

Contributed by simonwrite on Tuesday, 3rd November 2009 @ 09:58:37 AM in AEST
Topic: selfstruggles

Laughter is the very best medicine
But humor is the mortar he uses to lay bricks
For every joke cracked another is added to the stack
Maybe if he keeps them laughing long enough
Theyll forget to peer behind that wall
See the frail frame and the tear stained skeleton
A loss of the father figure left him disfigured
Bound to wander windy plains with poor posture
Making a date with destiny instead of flowers hell bring a hammer
Hit a crack wide enough for her to catch glimpses of dusty figures and old demons
Listening to rustic blues mixed with hip hop beats he dances behind it like no ones watching
Bathing in bleach to counteract the resin of corrosive chemicals
He was once a slave to
Howling at the moon, in no ones eyes he is a hero
A gunslinger at high noon, standing face to face with a black fog of schoolyard bullies
This chubby kid grew up pleasing people and blocking the inner screams
Its easier to forget than to remember
Clinging to clipped wings of a wounded angel
He expects them to fly
By now theres muscle on his frame
Veins pump and pulse with the memory of a father
Whos shadow couldve eclipsed even the brightest of stars
But hes not living in it
Blistered feet and weak knees have carried him this far
No time to rest
He left the comfort of his callused mind and is now hiking towards the basin of his heart
Taking time for Kodak moments, snapping shots of his own painted walls
He has finally started to find himself

Copyright © simonwrite ... [ 2009-11-03 09:58:37]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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