Picture courtesy of http://www.trekearth.com
He storms out of the house in an angry mood
In the need for a drink, his calming food
As people try and push him to his limits
His soul, his heart, his wallet, this bottomless pit
Do they think he’s some kind of Superman
In control of all, he does what he can
But where are they when he needs them most?
They become shadows, more like ghosts
He’s never asked for much in his simple life
When he does, they stick in the knife
Selfish people he knows exist in all
For believing, he considers himself a fool
The hunt is on for the break from these walls
This open prison with devils, no angels
He feels like cattle herded about by shepherds
No matter how much he screams, he’s not heard
The time has come to now stand alone
The die has been cast, has been thrown
He’ll take the first steps into the unknown
There he’ll finally be free to roam
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Posted in: Poetry
Randall
October 19, 2011
Powerfully done! “But where are they when he needs them most? They become shadows, more like ghosts” rings so true. I love it.
Darren Greenidge
October 19, 2011
Thanks Randell. Glad you liked it.