ness tillson

Rookie (hong kong)

What Happens Every Day? - Poem by ness tillson

I think she died 12 years ago,
Memories fade and let me go,
Another world another day,
Lost forever in the hay
A needle, a thorn, a baby born,
Nothing left, the branch is sawn,
Everything lost, a mystery unsolved,
A night of tears in the olive grove.

I wonder question and doubt,
Enigmatic solutions to badly placed questions,
Problems that never worked out.

Only the empty feeling of despair,
Mixed with the dandruff in my hair,
The smell of the rotting old sock,
You left with your memories in the black box.

She's crazy and demented,
As she rambles on,
Singing, shouting, her demented song.
And I sit and wonder what I'm doing here,
Where's the real me, the in this empty chair?

Are we all just lost emptied souls,
Caught in the hollow of our begging bowls,
Out lost desires, that never unfold,
Trapped in the prison of an empty black hole.

I wonder and question can this be real,
Or is it a dream, a chain made of steel?
That keeps me chained to this wooden post,
As life rolls by, I roam like a ghost,
From town to town, over hill and dale,
Drift on the ocean, no wind in my sail.

Just wondering, questions in my heart,
Tormenting my soul in the dark.

Is it me or is it you,
That left behind this broken old shoe?

I wonder and wonder where have you gone,
I wonder even if I am wrong,
Better be wrong than not right at all,
Better be dead than nailed to this wall.

The enigma is whole, full and complete,
The questions are stale and smell of old feet.

Am I dead or am I gone,
Am I mad or am I wrong?

No answers even echo in my head,
No whispers hide under my bed,
All souls are forgotten lost in the wind,
All bodies are dirty and lost in their sin,
My mind is filled with rubbish, a rubbish bin.

And I sit here and wonder and wonder again,
Am I dead, mad or going insane?

The more I look, the more I see,
Hell's open door beckoning me.

Look, hear, taste and smell,
The depths of illusion, the teste of hell.

And no one even lends and ear,
To the tortured children, ,
The torment and tears.

No one sees and none hears,
Lost illusions, desires and fears.

As the story unfolds, in unbelievable precision,
As time ticks by in our prison.

And there's no one to see,
No witness to bear,
The weight of your tears,
The blood in your hair.

The nails that are driven
Through the hands and the feet,
Through the souls of the world,
The devils fresh meat!

That keep us pinned to this wooden floor,
Till death do us part,
And we are no more.

No one to hear and no one to see,
You on your cross, God down on his knees,
The nails driven through the light of the day,
To stop you from moving, from getting away,
Let the blood run down to your feet,
Where heaven and earth in truth do meet.

And there's no one to hear, no one to say,
What happened and happens, goes on every day!

Poet's Notes about The Poem

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Poem Edited: Wednesday, May 23, 2012

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