Creative writing – Page 45 – A (wise) man of two faces

Scrapper

A Charlie Brown tree –
though ragged and worn it is
proudly on display.

Friday’s a temptress,
teasing for ages before
she offers herself.

I feel as though
I don’t belong
for long ago
I lost the song.

I used to hear
it blow through my soul;
I held it dear
and now there’s this hole.

The silence bears down
with the weight of an age
and I’m starting to drown
in the pain and the rage.

And now I’ve paid a heavy cost
in scars searching for salvation lost.

You wicked Wednesday;
you herald glad tidings but
you still make us wait.

The ties which bind us together
through bright and friendly weather
but when skies turn gray
and those friends go away
the remainder are brothers.

Murky Monday morn,
the corpse of a weekend and
we’re all dressed in black.

Don’t mourn for the lost
mourn instead for the living
who survived to mourn.

I once knew an artist
a man who laughed
and drank with friends
and worked hard
but his heart had grown barren.

Even the words of philosophers
babbled emptily
into his ears
for the fire had long vanished
from behind his eyes.

Her feminine charms
served her well until she met
his stupidity.

Autumn flowers
in earthly shades
fall in showers
as summer fades.