ghosts of things to come
My name is David, my name is Andrew, my name is Joshua, my name is Joseph. I am nobody pleased to meet you, are you nobody too? Names like rain alphabets falling apart , slow decay from the inside out counting shooting stars passing through the night, led astray by some siren's whisper waggleing finger and wink, to many drinks later and he said it, said I am a sailor, the son of a sailor, the son of the son of a sailor. sailors and stars and all living on with the likely possability all is for naught , existing on a whim, and you wonder about the foundations of reality lost in thaught hazed by smoke and smoke and to deep to climb out, like steal a scene and feel the floor become your coffin, steal a line and know that this is your life and it's passing you by one second at a time...don't wait, don't move, just sit and stare smile like you know the secrets, count the falling leaves as spring blows in hoarse and chilled, left shaking with images of divine inspiration, these are his bleeding palms and feet, this is his brow scared by thorns and mockery...he suffered for you....i'm sorry sir...we're still suffering...could you ask more and still how could so much asked and given not be enough? still suffering, left ragged and battle weiry from the world, with 40 years to go..where do we go, how have you come so far and yet still seem to of failed, why are you trying?....questions without answers just a feeling, like your stomache churning and knowing that real evil is around the corner, cold sweats. slow fever. staggered breath. stolen lines like...this is your life...