The clock is turning, the woman cries
A soaked handkerchief in her pocket
The church is silent, the devil laughs
The quiet husband turns his back.
And we're counting clouds 'til they disappear
Butterflies in my stomach, poison talk in your blood,
And the money breaks the world as it makes it go round
A shadow cast out in the park, a gravel path is burning.
Fire in the room, burning so brightly
The sticks are flicking, the flames are growing,
Shed cloth on the table, measured and weighed
The scales and ruler can't measure beauty.
The marbles are in the drain, a strange man passes
See you in a pretty dress, the gun in your hand
Take me to a hospital, cure this crazed insanity
The sun is burning, clock is turning, I think I am free.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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very good
i just love the imagery i think one of the best that i read of yours and i agree with wasp and arzab with what they have said keep doing well
love the papa
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This is the sort of poem I would class as "intellectual" the sort you would read in the Times, guardian etc. Far beyond my comprehention, with myself being of small brain. WASP.
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Powerful write. Lots of imagery and it really makes a person think about what freedom really is. Not only the freedom to have an opinion and speak our minds, but also just the way people take for granted the way they live their lives. It also makes me wonder what would be more of a prison, a life where people have to endure abuse or in a hospital though for crazy people, they wouldn't have to fear being hurt again. Great write. Keep up the great work.
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