Fade away
On the day
That you said
You’d always
Stay
Took the time
Just to say
You had no time
On the day
Couldn’t stay
There you sat
On the bus
Hair pulled back
So no fuss
On the way
To the place
You say you work
But you complain
‘bout all the jerks
everyday
And there’s no trace
No tracks of tears
On your face
You could cry
But not today
Bought you roses
In a bunch
Tied in ribbons
I had a hunch
You’d be home
Rang the bell
Tried the door
Peered through the windows
And scanned the floor
I was wrong
Left the flowers
On the front stairs
No note to leave
No real cares
That night.
This reminds of of Thoreau's quote, "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go the grave with the song still in them." Why be willing to accept the unfulfilling mundane as our personal reality.
ReplyDeleteWere you lonely in the night when you wrote this? It pulls a quiet pain from the reader in a thought-provoking way. Haunting in it banality of image for both the writer and the focus.