Riding the Middle Cliff

In simple English and bad analogies
We trade our yearn

Competing to lose we win
Here the loser takes all
The amoral path to
Feeling small
If they could but see

In simple cliches and sad routines
We trade comfort
Claiming it for our own
Sympathy for a mistress
That served no one
But herself

Dawning late
Steadying as we rock her
Hoping to get a rise
Or even a roll
If there were some to bite
We’d call it the swinging somethings
And bemoan the music
Gritting the everyday
With spine soaked runs
Breaking out the beltings
In words meant for no one

It’s called a tunnel for a reason
you know
The Vision’s not for everyone


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s