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ages of prayer

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they say my eyes hold many stories

 

and maybe it's true

 

but we are mirrors of each other

 

and I don't smile for tomorrow like they do

 

 

I'm not looking to be right because everyone else

 

ended up being wrong

 

that kinda hope ain't no hope at all

 

just a kind of vengeful smiling despair

 

 

 

so I walk on not saying that I disagree

 

my eyes got age that my skin don't show

 

and they don't ask for nothin' so hard they

 

can't accept somethin'

 

 

 

I want to sit and listen, hear the clouds or whispering

 

of the trees

 

but they just got to talk about praying for the lord

 

and know god walked out the second he was

 

called on in that manner

 

 

 

I look at him, he stares at me and his

 

eyes train off at nothing and shadows

 

and that's what I feel we have in common

 

 

 

cause tonight

 

a little girl will get lost and found in the village

 

and lovers will miss each other

 

old men will complain the way young men do about

 

the way things used to be

 

and somewhere compassion is still being dueled out

 

if by drops from a leaky faucet

 

 

 

it's a skip lonesome as the night and long as the

 

montana evening in july

 

but it's mine and take it out where their tomorrow

 

is still my today

 

Comments (1)

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Beautifully breathtaking, Pepemagoo.

Zany Lynn
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