Alone But Alive

Picking, pulling, tearing,
Weeds from the broken ground,
Underneath the dry August sky,
Never hearing any stirring,
Behind the sunflower drapes,
To the bay window that looks over the yard,
And as the night time moon,
Brings forth the midnight stars,
I have a feeling that this home is broken too,
Not temporarily; though I know that's,
What you'd like to believe out of pity for me,
But forever, a word that does not decieve,
Those who never lived at all.

And as the establishment crumbles,
And I determine that there's no one in the rubble,
Of this broken home strewn out,
Over this broken land; I am left unscathed,
I stop, look over my left shoulder,
At the fading moon and realize that luck,
Isn't even a matter of importance,
To those without any established relationships anyway,
So, I grin as dawn breathes life into,
The orange morning sun,
And I am still alive, because it takes just one,
To survive.