August 31st, 2008
No leeway to shift my feet on this mile-high pillar,
this macabre landscape just can't help but seem
like it was molded from some twisted artist's dream.
But a smile is painted over my face each day
even though the colors continually chip and decay
while wind gusts wear the pillar away.
What proper mind would lure me here?
Who?
Was it I?
Did they expect me to learn how to fly?
Is there any earth left below?
And just how long am I willing to go?
Like an old statue,
I've become part of this rock,
one with unfaltering tenacity
that the world forgot.
And that smile that's plastered each day -
it persists through far worse than rain.
It appears many would prefer my pillar crumble,
and yet it stands still,
and I'm yet to know why.
When the land rumbles,
I should stumble,
falling like a tear of the sky,
and yet I stand still,
and I'm yet to know why.













Comments
In any case, I thought it was a lovely piece, and your use of words evoked some pretty nifty imagery. In fact, I can't adequately describe what emotions it dragged out of me, but I feel richer for having read it.
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