Saturday, December 12, 2015

Who Knows My Face?

This evening's article is being written from the road. I normally publish a new piece of fiction on Saturday, but today will be a rare exception. I revisited a lot of old places from my youth today. While the full details of my visit will be detailed in a future article, I simply wanted to express my feelings in a poem this evening.

Falling apart
Your bones left exposed to the harsh winds of change
The flesh peeling from your frame
No longer a home
The shadow of a thousand dying suns
Your holy houses of learning
Left to dance with the dust
The graves of kings and queens
Sinking into the depths of a forgotten hell
The shattered glass of a windowless house
Scattered across a boneyard
Seeking but a single drop of water
No life, no hope
Remember... there is no 'I' in team
But there is an 'I' in failure
Who knows my face?
In a crowd of strangers, I have become invisible
How can I be anything but humble
Gained a fortune
Lost a losing proposition
In that, I am redeemed
A vulture overlooking a cemetery of the living dead

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