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Array
(
[sid] => 134646
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => A Faded Red
[time] => 2007-05-24 02:01:40
[hometext] => A poem about giving up on your dreams and the beauty in failing
[bodytext] => You danced like crosses in the snow with figure in your steps, A cold refusal to grow, I saw you guessing your life like a blind tarot card holding back on the dealer, Going back on your word There were tapes of ballerinas, Worn out “Buenos Dias”, greetings you could never understand By the doors that were opening so you would just close them once again You say, “Make me an old rocking chair, a bottled air, some sort of paperweight, Let the dues pay out, all majesty, beside of me, a clock’s too late, Just so long as I don’t face this, the window’s glance ahead, I don’t want to be a breeze, the melting freeze; I want to live a faded red” Now the canine’s bowl is empty, There are no morsals left, no meal left for free, I watched as you starved yourself on failed visions, On backwards indirections, newly marketed decisions, You know, you use to make the point of reference now there’s no chance, An epitaph’s made of loss, this ambition’s tossed, It never marked the cost You say, “Make me an old rocking chair, a bottled air, some sort of paperweight, Let the dues pay out, all majesty, beside of me, a clock’s too late, Just so long as I don’t face this, the window’s glance ahead, I don’t want to be a breeze, the melting freeze; I want to live a faded red” There was beauty in your sighs, Injustice in your smiles, danger in your alibis, And it’s sickening, watching you turn into a storage room, some sort of ancient tree Like a written out doom, an anchor sinking in the sea An inspiration poster at an old, gray office desk, The chance of no risk, a steadying tortured path, You snicker at this world but it gives no comforting laugh, You say, “Make me an old rocking chair, a bottled air, some sort of paperweight, Let the dues pay out, all majesty, beside of me, a clock’s too late, Just so long as I don’t face this, the window’s glance ahead, I don’t want to be a breeze, the melting freeze; I want to live a faded red” Passion was a loser, It never stood a chance; it boxed just to bruise her, Now there’s all this letting go into a life of pointless past, Into a reoccurring show, That gets old way too fast, History repeats itself, The book’s shelved, no mysteries made to shed, For a figure of imagination’s crime, a living faded red [comments] => 3 [counter] => 224 [topic] => 21 [informant] => Franciswolf [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 9 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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