4: 04 am
I curse the coming dawn
Another day of perpetual longing
Another day soon gone
I have to make you turn towards me
But I cannot
I have to make you hug me
You have no arms
Where are you Johnette Napolitano?
Melodically soothe me to believe in Love
Lure me back into a 4 minute sense of hope
I have to make you turn towards me
But I cannot
I have to make you love me
You have no heart
The deep dark chasm of recurring pain that is life
Keeps stabbing me in the back with it's knife
Life, the finite reality of an infinite dream
Will i steal another soul?
Will i wind up in a hole?
Will you reply before you die?
Will i move the world?
I have to make you turn towards me
But i cannot
I have to make you hear me
You have no ears
The deep dark chasm of recurring pain that is life
Keeps stabbing me in the back with it's knife
I reach up from another bottom
I find nothing to grab onto again
And i stare into the deep polished paint of my Grandfather's classic black 46 Plymouth and i wonder
I wonder the same thing I wondered as a child
When?
When will i finally die?
Beau Golden
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The delivery shows much pain and hurt, outstanding work Beau.