Wednesday, August 25, 2004

Racing Against This

I'm talking out loud,
to myself,
often these days

Not crazy but worn,
tired fighting,
to hear my thoughts through the haze

Which cry out against the
rising noise
in a steadily growing daze

Racing straight into the reds
only to turn
and hit brakes on the hills.

The children unhappy in their beds
need a change
feed them more grinning pills

to calm the tide of confusion
growing daily
then jail the evil-doer thugs

mother mother guide me
as long ago you did
fill the musty air now; turn darkness into hugs

1 comment:

Llama said...

I will hug you anytime, my son, and protect you as best I can.