Making Stories:

      Upon this stage the looking glass, city lights and mesmerized dreamers walking in circles in a corner,
  Many a journey yet to come, tiny tongue twisters confused even men of gods,
 Some just lay in wait telling stories of idle pompous jerks never remembered the lines they spoke the day before,
 Why is there so much disillusion left undone? Gather your pictures of the side show mirrors, leather sandals, tiny notes written on napkins and walls of old smelly urine stained restrooms ,
   There's a story in those passages, old yellow newspapers of dreams and lies,
  Boxcar chatter and failing minds,
Drunken wino's sitting in corners, old cafe menu's turning water into wine,
    Often times just laying in a field, whittling away at our mind,
 The childhood memories and our often silly circle yes or no,
    Thus the same old pack gathered around the tether ball pole, making wishes and blood brothers,
  The abandoned crop duster wilting in the field, ooh why tattered wings thy soul a page in history,
Come with me grandfather, lift your spirits a dance we shall, scratching notes as he rambled on,
   Telling times of that old studebaker, ooh a beauty she was, ran like the wind and I was a man A MAN he'd say, WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME HERE TO DIE? WHY DAMMIT? He cried
  Yet he danced like she was listening anyhow,
tearing pages from her Bible thinking surely there must of been a mistake,
   You'd only to look around the corner they were bound to be there making stories.

Dark Poet.
May 22 2013