Porch Sounds

How did it come to be that the voices of these streets

faded into fleeting recollections of echoes?

Figures once set in place move freely about the board,

leaving traces in blurred snapshots a thousand words cannot describe.

Like shifting clues into place, I’m matching facades to faces,

scrambling from context as memory drains itself to a desert state.

It used to be so simple, so perfectly simple

to find a friend behind every frame.

One knock and the day erupts in motion.

And now it feels so desperate, split across and made separate.

Knocks go unanswered.

There’s no time to answer.

Perching on the throne of metalwork recreation,

we declared ourselves kings of the forest and a second could never age us.

Somewhere along the lines between holding onto youth and expectation,

the cracks opened miles wide and I’m afraid we’ve all fallen deep inside.

Looking upon mud and twigs where grand designs once stood,

staring out into a stranger’s backyard, chasing sounds of familiarity.

How did it come to be we ended up alone

after struggling so hard to reconstruct our disassembled bodies?

Molded by this potent nurture do these drones march to practiced beats.

Punch in the cards, sever the throats, leave selves at the door.

I sit nursing my faulty machinery watching days move without me.

There’s not a name to turn to anymore.

Hereby all are declared null and void—let succumb to black scratches.

If this is the triumph of expectation then only one lesson is to be found,

and there’s just a single story to describe from moving signs.

Spend time wisely, spend time well, but the moments do pass.

You’ll crash down.

Dreams used to be so vibrant in past years.

It was so easy to picture in color.

Let spin the calendar globe and the ink runs dry.

The revolution breathes the words unwanted.

Everything you love will vanish.

Everything you love will vanish.

Everything you love will vanish.

Everything you love will vanish.

( ❤ Mitch)


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