Tuesday, September 25, 2007

The Blue Car

Burnt, charred embers
leave marks on my hands
Easily washed off
with the grit of the sand
that stood under your feet
as you stood on my soul
Helpless and lame
Completely unwhole

Rhonderdons blooming
Stars shining the same
Blues music was booming,
To a tune that was slain...
eking a place in my head
For the swallows to sit
For the swallows, a bed

Drip-drops of the coffee
that I never drink
Sing songs of the melodies
that I never think

Questioned the running of time
through the land
of wheat that blows grandly
while slips through my hand

Wondered at silence
Why nothing was said
Sealed up like drum
That beat in my head

Rhythms stopped rhyming
And moods stopped their sway
Time hands stopped ticking
The moon slipped away

Frayed ribbons
Black hats
Scuffed shoes and dark shades
Under the blue car
that drove far away