A Long Walk Home 12/09

You are told you shouldn’t talk to yourself, so quietly, I sing,

A song I learned when summer was young, about happy, careless things,

It summons the memory of light and laughter, looks that gave me wings,

Now I’m holding a lifeless mobile phone, that does not ever ring,

 

Friendships come and go with a piece of your heart, a pain you learn to bear,

As we all walk alone at the end of the day, to a bed of heavy cares,

Yet sometimes my stereo plays that song, and I find some solace there,

As a breeze come sighing through the trees, playing in my hair,

 

Filling my empty hands with a smoke, I drag with moistened lips,

Thinking of things that pass me by, of how we came to this,

Tighten my belt like a tourniquet one more notch, around my lonely hips,

Been a long time since this body has felt the warmth, of eager fingertips,

 

The miles are long between here and there, so many doubts at play,

I keep my silence when you’re around, too many things to say,

But I’ve stolen James Dean’s leather jacket, worn like armor these days,

And my boots go ‘tap’ on a long wet road, as I quietly walk away.

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