Aa Harvey

Silent thoughts

Silent thoughts

Candles burning brightly bring visions to my eyes.

Shadows dancing in the corners give this room a supernatural vibe.

As I sit here under the covers, all fears are held below;

I gaze into the broken mirror, in a room with no visible windows.

Curtains hide the outside from me; pictures hang on every wall.

Unopened boxes still sleep their long slumber;

They have sat there since the fall.

Unread books sit on the bookshelf;

The dust has gathered on all their pages.

Cobwebs hang like Christmas decorations,

They show the footsteps the spiders took;

They have been there for ages.

As the cold air slows my heartbeat, I could have been here for a year.

So forgotten, so complicated; there is no-one left to cheer.

I have tried to change the channel,

But everything just sounds the same.

I have tried to feed my hunger,

But my body refuses and so it remains.

A thirst calls out for a glass of water; legs are aching for some help.

If I hired myself a waitress, maybe I could help myself.

Candles flicker in their actions; a silhouette fills all above.

There is a ghostly face on my ceiling; swiftly it changes and all is mud.

As the wick burns down to nothing, I prepare to make a stand.

I am reaching out for lightning; fire in my hands.

As I strike another cigarette with the last match inside the pack,

I carry the flame across every candle; I will have to soon sleep or act.

I whisper words into the emptiness, as several thoughts go passing by.

I take hold of my loneliness and put it out of sight, out of mind.

A man is speaking on the TV and I do not like the news he has to tell,

So I press the off switch at the television,

So I am no longer under its spell…

The sound of silence is beginning to annoy me,

So I flick the switch on the radio.

Another old man tells me something new again;

I need music not this breaking news show.

I try and fail to read a fictional story;

The fading light no help at all.

Remembering former days of glory;

Newspaper clippings on the wall.

All the frames have cracks along them,

Where they have fallen to the floor before.

The memories that live outside my head,

Are entrapped in photo’s that are boxed up against the wall.

I need money to change my life,

But changing times are always hard.

A moth is living where there should always have been plenty of cash.

I take out all the plastic cards…

And I throw them in the trash.

Counting pennies like an accountant;

I don’t just wear this hat for fun.

Another winter of discontent;

Crying out to feel the sun.

Breathing clouds because of the cold air;

Toes are asking Santa for slipper shoes.

I lost my will to try a long time ago;

My heart is not mending, it is way too bruised.

Body aching from a lifetime;

I never give it a second thought.

The clock annoys me more and more,

With every tick-tock and with every chime…

I’m too old to be closing doors.