Shaken words that paint as sound on fire
A willful brush, shaped by lips and tongue.
You pause to listen to an echoed something
Still seeking in the rushing of the noise
To see the scree of tones shorn rough and ugly
To count the colored parts and name each one.
As the rush of anger starts to fold around you
Its plastic rubber blowback burns your ears
Those ears that pin against the rail in waiting
Are still waiting there to lose the pain in time.
And time is only there to be remembered
And remembering is the pain you want the least.
Fear and faith can hold a shape forever
Till twisted by the arms of no one cares
And you sit alone and blind in pounded rubble
Seeking only more of dimness from the gloom.
Mike Brady 2010