"Sometimes the cure
is worse than all the pain..."
I run my hands up through my hair -
something foul, is in the air...
they always say it's darkest 'fore the dawn.
A sense of dread on the descend -
permeates, my sight and skin...
they never say what comes when
night is gone.
Should we stretch
our hands to reach the lie...
or do we wise
and keep our heads held high?
The weight of fear
that spreads a boundless stain......
too many nightmares, in this lullaby of change,
how can one sleep -
when truth gets all the blame?
I touch the wind across my face -
and it bites, with its disgrace...
I cannot find the hope I once held true.
The many storms that tilt and shift -
a feel of calm, that's cast adrift...
the chain which holds the anchor's
So do we kneel
and swallow this as fate...
or do we back
to fight another day?
Sometimes the cure
is worse than all the pain......
too many noises, in this lullaby of change,
how can one dream -
when truth has gone insane?
I ride the tremors through my feet -
bloody mass, of aging meat...
the wounds from splinters made of steel and wood.
Yet they march on without pause -
not revealing, their true cause...
because they can, does not mean
that they should.
I'm left shell
and cannot draw a breath...
do we rise
or surrender to our death.
A black horizon
that cannot be escaped......
too many terrors, in this lullaby of change,
how can one rest -
when truth is being raped?
Copyright © 2009 Stone Bryson. All Rights Reserved.
Written July 2009