Of the unspoken delerium
Those who trudge the rails
Always shuffling familiar paths
Ignoring the child who wails
Echoes fall upon closed walls
Lurking behind shut doors
Ceilings reveal clacking motions
From the upper floors
In the distance the radio plays
Broken tunes to mend broken minds
Half bottles of vodka riddled with spider webs
Empty thoughts that nobody ever finds
Dreams within dreams that never reveal
Behind walls that are enclosed in steel
Unfamiliar sounds in the tinking of a tap
Laying awake in the airless trap
Outside the doors are sets of stairs
Upon which you can place all your cares
Others will walk and grind the dreams
Into the floors and into the seams
Of the dilapidated tapestries
That cover the floors
~Moses~
© 2006 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved
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