Sad winters tread through swollen summers, my sympathy wears thin.
I care, promise, respect this ancient life wrapped with newly polished
dreams.
Night will unwind into day, and I will still sit,
Upon this plateau of wisdom awaiting the horizons dawn.
Hoboken dreams, and promises gone sour,
demonize my friendships, and past relationships.
Where are we without them? My questions are silenced.
Where was I before them? My questions were silenced.
I admire this cold blooded killer of emotions.
This death based prowler of time.
I sit feverishly typing, ranting, dreaming, in pain.
Confusion sets in to this melting pot, where my questions are undoubtably
silenced.
Humanity wears thin, and I grow cold as wisdom sets in.
Lashing out, aggressive behavior, all walks of life of great societies.
All failures of succession by wise old gents chanting show tunes on a baby
grand piano.
Drunkards in a rage of fury, wise fury.
I spin my life around in circles around a man who lights a smoke.
Where was I, in a blaze, a train of thought, a new dimension of this
wisdom.
While my questions were silenced.
Arise from this plateau, this bar stool of age.
The smoking man laughing in the corner, dimly lit.
I think he reminded me of an eccentric childhood, but slightly altered from
my own.
Dazed, in a great pool of thoughts and emotions, I spin off course.
A gent wearing a black velvet suit enters my imaginary room.
Black briefcase, black hat, darkened glasses.
Sinister, with a smirk, he takes me...While my questions are silenced.
Blackened tastes of pain and sorrow as I tip my glass of gin and tonic to my
lips.
I softly grin. This daydream confuses me, but my drunken state causes no
concern.
I try so hard to keep a tear from rolling down my face, I have forgotten all
of time itself.
Here I sit still, as the sinister looking man has snatched my life. I am
old.
I am dead, sitting here at my plateau of life. On a bar stool, awaiting my
lonesome conclusion.
My questions were heard, but I silenced my answers.
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