Brutal Honesty

January 7, 2009
Why does the sun have such a cold heart to illuminate the pain in the world every day in the week?
Why not let the world stay consumed in shadowy fury?
Why not let the tears run their course over the faded page?
For once the tears stopped falling we would never cry again,
It would be done.
Instead the sun illuminates our hopes,
Impossible dreams that we cannot grasp,
Over and over again with the rising sun.
And we cry again and again.
Feeling the pain again and again.
Of a present not given,
A doll with a rip,
A bicycle on it’s back with one wheel squeaking in horrible song.
At least in the cold we would never miss the warmth.
Take out the comics in the newspaper.
Stop delivering it at all.
We all know the headlines,
The obituary taking up all of the space,
With the faceless pictures of those of whom escaped.
Stop the music,
I know the lyrics,
About a different time, a different place, a different way of life,
I’ve heard it all before.
I’ll count the stars,
I’ll count the souls,
Until I’ll count myself among them.
I’ll count the seconds,
The grains of sand,
The pauses in between.
I’ll watch the sun that never sets in time.
I’ll wait in silent agony.
Touching my dry cheeks and waiting for the rain,
But it never comes because I buried my hope with my happiness long ago.
And when the night comes once again,
The shadows not alone but all around,
And I sigh in relief.
Because I won’t have to try to dodge the dark spots,
I’ll just wait until they consume me.
Why does the night have such a cold heart to be so brutally honest?





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