
You called me two years ago or was it three?
So much has happened since then it's all a blur to me
I had to turn you away then, had a dying man's hand in mine still and was clinging to everything I own
But you didn't know
you didn't know
Is that what this is for now?
Crippled in fear like a jar full of tears, I was
Like a nation filled with cares that couldn't really hear
The Holy Spirit opened the door not the creeps that bow to their own function
So now you know
Surprises have a sound of their own but still, I wish
The thing about opulence is it can leave a bitter taste
A kind of hesitation misses the steps of grace as if a hero made any
The real hero was supposed to help me leave not sit and watch TV
Green pastures are never the same when once held lightly is a narcissist's game but you're not a player and for that I am thankful but the game pieces are getting bigger
Romantics must be tools not fools, didn't you know that and the indoctrination of the lesser want won't go quite the way you think, slaps in the face are like that
Crumpled paper cups with strings to hear between eight walls to crumble weights between my fingers seem insignificant in the face of fate or time that never forgets because I bleed on the page over and over again anyway as if it will make a new day or a fantastical long sentence but this music lifts me above the degradation and clouds fall like clenched fists in tiny raindrops that fasten the day to mind
Not again, is a whine from red brick walls and there's a hint of jasmine in the air and I don't know what it means
Crazy steps crawling for a stage...did I say, when did I say?
I wanted my million back so I could get a home and everything I loved but they're going to actually play this out? That I should do what I'm told and shut my mouth to cover the collective butts? Never going to happen
Never going to happen
Just.give.it.back
There's not a bit of spite in this unless it's the truth caught in many throats on the edge of ... it's a case of more look a-likes
Think I'll get married
But there are Superzillas everywhere with a nightmare of their own, I really, really just need my own home
Because it's not happening here, the messenger is here to tell you
Now this
Super sighs
Creative outcries facing the winds waiting for the tumult to spin the chosen forward to stand on their feet, to do the right thing because the harbingers of the soul already took it
About the Creator
Canuck Scriber Lisa Lachapelle
Vocal Top Story 13 times + Awesome Story 2X. Author of Award Winning Novel Small Tales and Visits to Heaven XI Edition + books of poems, etc. Also in lit journal, anthology, magazine + award winning entries.
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