My Eyes Are Open
The Muted Night will not speak,
sitting in a chair by the Kitchen sink.
An empty glass with nothing to drink.
Deep dark cabin, old and dreary,
hidden thoughts cold and teary.
The hunger for something that is not there,
and what is it now, that is spoiling the air.
I light my candle as I sit in my chair,
while mobs of empty bottles surround me to Glare.
Their Silhouettes rise from the table,
Dancing to candle light's stories and fables.
Burning wax, melting through time,
march away moments, Melodies in Rhyme.
Power, Lust, Rotting Bones, ...