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the village clock strikes midnight…so many
cannot sleep
they bare the lonely silence, avoiding thoughts
too deep
and in each room’s a shadow that draws when
their alone
all the people shun it’s path with a method of
their own…
the accountant out of college lies pondering
great success
devotes each hour of every day, never taking
time to rest
yet when he stops to think, he feels the weight
like chains
then wears his books like blinders to cauterize
the pain
there’s the rich, old gossip lady who has so
many ‘friends’
that strain their ears to listen and wonder
what of them
now who’s there left to talk to as she twists
and turns in bed
she firmly grips her blanket and pulls it over
her head
watch the Pharisee who’s praying – god forgive
their deeds
i’ve not missed church in twenty years, my
soul’s completely freed
rising form his bended knee, he staggers like
he’s lame
and turning from the mirror’s view, he lives
his lies again
see the housewife live her soapers from ten
o’clock ‘til four
anything to pass the time, although she longs
for more
her heart seems like the vacant lot where her
children play their games
she casts herself in The Edge of Night, yet
still remains the same
here’s one looking thru his bottle saying –
love and life’s unfair
i used to search for honesty, but now i just
don’t care
as a bubble gently rises on its journey to the
top
it passes his reflection…he shudders as it pops
yea, the writer’s world’s a battleground, words
are unto stones
a culprit is an empty page, a fugitive’s not
yet known
the skirmish is the village clock and he opens
both his eyes
wonder sharp as arrows make symbol and thought
align
Athens, Ohio ‘77
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