Friday, October 17, 2008

Turn

That unexplained unwanted feeling
coming through in waves,
sounding out as marching feet
go walking on our graves.
Damnation brought about by choice
inexplicable in fashion,
saving up for day to day
the sudden ending ration.
Belly's full while wanting more
gluttonous by recreation,
thoughts become that feeling numb
no higher exaltation.
Godless and you know it
once again those choices linger,
know exactly where you point
before you raise a finger.
Blank because you're wanting
faces more than no expression,
turn within no hope to grin
forced more into regression.
Recession of the soul is sad
but childlike thoughts can save,
sounding of the trumpets
as we walk upon our graves.

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