8 Pm Blues Poem by Lyra Pearce

Sometimes its silent crying
Silent howling
Silent tears
That drop onto the ground around
Dissolving in mid air
When not a soul seems to care
And the world’s all yours to bear
And you long for that certain someone
To run and tell your troubles and fears
But everything built on realness
Real people
Real scenes
Real tears
And its only thousands of windows
Thousands of lights
Thousands of buildings
Empty faces
The world is so vast, so big
Thousands are awash in tears
The ocean seemed to be flooding
With our laments and woes, and worldly cares
Yet I hear that rock band music
Playing without a care
In the back garden of some happy scene
With beer, and laughter and cheers
Everyone lives in their own bubble
Their own little lives, own happiness, own tears
And we float around bumping
Careless strewing out our fears