Searching, always between the lines, the present and yesterday’s dusty memories, he wanders in search of his atonement.
Moment, there happened one once, back on an older page. Rage, that created this shell of a man, this lasting sadness.
Madness, he is locked by the chain and bolted to the floor, the key has been thrown, he can’t it take any, more.
Pour, he did his empty heart upon the salt stained page, Inside his lonely memory, his lonely memory cage.
Rage, as he tries to turn the page, the weighted bastard page, ten ton bricks page, heavy in his mind,
Kind, he hopes and tries to be, gentle and set free from the guilt that accompanies we, he, me
My time is spent too much in shadows of the grey, prey to the black dog and rain clouds.
Shrouds, my days, covers me from crack to falling sun, won, most days the race is not,
Rot, I do further into the arms of my chair, dead eyed and trance to all who pass,
Glance, a spark a flicker of joy spreads the face of this lost little boy, then lost,
A lost cause wars, battle scared, a figure of speech, mind breaks screech,
Reach hold my out hand, I will be free from this mental mind hell land,
Stand, I will again, against the slamming shutters, against the rain,
Pain, no more, I will be free from these chains, invisible to all,
But, me, blind the rest to the daily test, to the pick and lock,
The deafening tick and tock of that forever clocking clock,
Rock, I who of stone, no lights needed to guide me,
Home, roam I do from pillar and finishing post,
Coast, my days, repeating myself, to all, to,
No one, to me, to we, like a cyclops I see,
My life in threes, start, middle, end,
Pretend, to smile, to not want,
An end, my friend, my love,
I will return to your arms,
The night is longing but,
The day will be ours,
I will return to you,
Moth to a flame,
Do burn bright,
Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.