listening to music is productive
Well, listening to a recent mix disc i made caused a muse to strike me with inspiration. Here is the fruit of this endeavor. The title is
A poem spurred by "Clocks" from the Minds of Coal Chamber
The clocks count my fears,
With every tick
Reveals there is nothing left to die for.
With every tock
Questions if there is something left to live for.
Yet, can it be true?
Can every passing hour
mean there is no meaning,
Can each elapsing minute
mean there is no reason
To every second I try to catch
With a simple butterfly net,
An attempt to achieve what I want,
To get what I need?
Can it be said
That with every passing thought in my head
Of you, and you, and you, and you
I act a fool?
To afraid to face the dread
That all I was fed
Was nothing more than a perfect drug
To obscure the lie that,
That there's nowhere to run
Nowhere to hide?
A poem spurred by "Clocks" from the Minds of Coal Chamber
The clocks count my fears,
With every tick
Reveals there is nothing left to die for.
With every tock
Questions if there is something left to live for.
Yet, can it be true?
Can every passing hour
mean there is no meaning,
Can each elapsing minute
mean there is no reason
To every second I try to catch
With a simple butterfly net,
An attempt to achieve what I want,
To get what I need?
Can it be said
That with every passing thought in my head
Of you, and you, and you, and you
I act a fool?
To afraid to face the dread
That all I was fed
Was nothing more than a perfect drug
To obscure the lie that,
That there's nowhere to run
Nowhere to hide?