Words and Verse
Dirge
Here's another that I wrote a long long long time ago. Had to have been 13 or 14
What's love? An addict spends his dearest dollar
On pills and needles for his craving's needs.
His world is made of pleasure for a minute
Until the bliss of wonderland receeds.
Then minutes turn to hours in withdrawal
As life's a torture and a wretched chore,
He'd stab a toddler if it meant a dollar
To offer to the dealer for some more.
Think of a vessle plunging on the ocean
At peace with perfect weather in the wind
The captain in his cabin idly dozing,
The crewmen lounge, the sails are spread untrimmed.
A blasting storm, the crashing tempests toss it
With gnashing gusts that pierce the ruffled sail,
The captain's forced to moor at random harbour
Or let his vessle perish in the gale.
What now? For shame! The storm's haphazard hurling
Has snapped the keel and hull, and they know none
Can leave now, even when the wheather offers,
Resigned, they wait for hungry death to come.
Till some lone ship appears on the horizon-
The sailors and the captain wave and wave
At the mirage until they slump and die from
Dry throats parched of the water that they crave.
Just so with love, we flee to it for shelter
And there we're trapped, with no escape to see:
The latch that lifts to let us in the closet
Won't necessarily lift to let us free.
And then when we think hope is bearing near us
We gape and gasp and grin and cry hurray
Only to see it's a sick trick to tease us
As the last shard of joy shuns us away.
Think of a man on death row who has been there
So long he's numb and blunted, couldn't care;
Only suppose his jailers joke “you're pardoned”
Dragging him to the scaffold then and there.
That's all love is, and that's the reason why
Rather than love again, I'd gladly die.
What's love? An addict spends his dearest dollar
On pills and needles for his craving's needs.
His world is made of pleasure for a minute
Until the bliss of wonderland receeds.
Then minutes turn to hours in withdrawal
As life's a torture and a wretched chore,
He'd stab a toddler if it meant a dollar
To offer to the dealer for some more.
Think of a vessle plunging on the ocean
At peace with perfect weather in the wind
The captain in his cabin idly dozing,
The crewmen lounge, the sails are spread untrimmed.
A blasting storm, the crashing tempests toss it
With gnashing gusts that pierce the ruffled sail,
The captain's forced to moor at random harbour
Or let his vessle perish in the gale.
What now? For shame! The storm's haphazard hurling
Has snapped the keel and hull, and they know none
Can leave now, even when the wheather offers,
Resigned, they wait for hungry death to come.
Till some lone ship appears on the horizon-
The sailors and the captain wave and wave
At the mirage until they slump and die from
Dry throats parched of the water that they crave.
Just so with love, we flee to it for shelter
And there we're trapped, with no escape to see:
The latch that lifts to let us in the closet
Won't necessarily lift to let us free.
And then when we think hope is bearing near us
We gape and gasp and grin and cry hurray
Only to see it's a sick trick to tease us
As the last shard of joy shuns us away.
Think of a man on death row who has been there
So long he's numb and blunted, couldn't care;
Only suppose his jailers joke “you're pardoned”
Dragging him to the scaffold then and there.
That's all love is, and that's the reason why
Rather than love again, I'd gladly die.
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Dirge
Dirge