There are no roads left to walk on,
no day left unwoken to.
Caged in the fire of a slow, dying light.
Fixed between a shuttling echo,
the crackling embers of your life.
A blunt knife piercing the passing days.
You are caught as the light in your photo,
fixed, with gazes impaled upon.
Not a sharpness, a streak in sight.
No reckless desire, no drive, no power,
molten with hurt and sigh and pain.
Lost in need, glittering in the dark.
Choked in stillness, in quiet refrain,
"remember when you were young".
Mystery marksman, never to die.
no day left unwoken to.
Caged in the fire of a slow, dying light.
Fixed between a shuttling echo,
the crackling embers of your life.
A blunt knife piercing the passing days.
You are caught as the light in your photo,
fixed, with gazes impaled upon.
Not a sharpness, a streak in sight.
No reckless desire, no drive, no power,
molten with hurt and sigh and pain.
Lost in need, glittering in the dark.
Choked in stillness, in quiet refrain,
"remember when you were young".
Mystery marksman, never to die.
(Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here/Dark Side of the Moon. Three minutes past two in the morning. A fear, a song, a film.)
ReplyDelete"...to experience everything there is to experience".
ReplyDeleteShuttling echoes and Impaling gazes, eh?
I'd like to talk about this some day, here isn't enough. Bring it up next time. :)
ReplyDelete