There are those afraid to move, yet somehow know they must,
It can be hard, impossible, to know the whys or what's,
For night is dark as coal is black, the dawn so far away,
Still come with time, the ticking clock will bring the light of day.
But still they sit, with arms entwined around their knees so tight,
Their mind just dwells upon the need to last throughout the night,
It matters not that light will come and with it morning skies,
For desperation knows no bounds when all it hears is lies.
The dark abyss now opens, to suck them further down,
No-one knows what lies beneath the solid, steadfast ground,
And who will really care when they sink beneath the surface?
For still waters run as deep as time below life's lurid circus.
As dawn grows near, the songs are heard of those who praise its birthing,
To them it means another day to smile amid soul-searching,
But what of they who seek to find a meaning for their life?
When all they've ever known, is emptiness, and strife.
~ Lurid Circus: I would think a dictionary would describe this
term as something that is possibly expected, yet twisted into
something beyond explanation. I don't really know, as I've never
found it in my steadfast Webster, but the explanation of it is
something that need only to be looked upon with eyes of compassion
- hopefully understanding of things which are beyond explaining in
terms that would possibly make any sense. I've known these kind of
feelings, experienced them, escaped them; hopefully will never have
to revisit them for a refresher course in survival; still they persist
everyday for someone looking for a simple light at the end of a long,
dark tunnel. Such were my thoughts behind the writing of this poem. ~ R.B.
