There's sky above us, ground below
Scorching summers, howling snow
A baby cries, an old man dies
We're sitting in the middle, wondering why
Heat is so cold and ice is so hot
Wondering why so few bullets are shot
Embedding deep into mind and fear
A dagger stuck in my middle
Somewhat of a riddle
If it's imaginary, is it still here?
And does the pain still sear?
If it's not here, where?
A baby's closed eyes, an old glassy stare
They say fair's fair
Why is it, I ask, we close our eyes in prayer?
We seek to see clearly, yet are blind by choice
Choosing to deny ourselves a voice
Silent by design
But was design His?
The fanatics and the atheists, know what they think
Shadowy darkness, can't exist without light
Earthworms root deeply, sparrows in flight
Hearts endlessly bright
I never burrowed, I never flew
I'm not old and worn, yet nor am I new
Darkness falls on the skin of my back
Light from the sun gives my front what it lacks
We talk and listen, our storms are mild
Balance is what we mean by wild
A dagger of harmony
Strikes a chord in my gut
Cleanly strikes an average cut
Pierces my soul but
I dance along to what's subtly true
Wait within a lengthy queue
The dagger's still there, but I keep to my view
Stuck in the middle with you
***
*poet is a huge fan of double meaning*
Yeah. I like this. I like the tone that it holds, even though I'm not entirely comfortable with the words.
I may redraft something similar later, if I ever feel to be in the same mood again and want to rework the language.
I hope you enjoyed it, and thank you for reading.
Alex xxx
YOU ARE READING
Under My Sofa
PoetryWhen I was little I wrote in the space under my sofa. Now I write on top of it. That's not poetic. I'm just too big to fit underneath anymore.
