That Lucky Old Sun (Revised)

A sense of self imposed apartheid; bars on my window and chains on my door, visible to myself, to others they are non existent, there are no restraints.

With every sunrise there is a sunset…

A sunset like a fallen curtain with only echoes of love in his ears. Or like the gates on his windows…shuttered and secure…

Secluded, protected and unshaven…rough, tough and demented, falling towards assorted variations of self inflicted life affirming pain.

With every ounce of love there is hatred…

Another world, another time, another self, do I still have a soul? I wake to find myself in some transported dimensions — one, two or three?

Watching through the window I see the dogs standing and barking by the curb. a squirrel climbs up a tree to safety. I see a cloud but there ain’t no silver lining — tears in my eyes…

Birds sit silently on a branch of an oak tree in a park, over a bench where an old man sits holding a flower, waiting for that lady from another time to sit by his side, to try and understand him.

Can she ever understand him? He doesn’t understand him.

Misunderstood and filled with confusion, his emotions bubbling inside — like a wild horse in a stable, kicking up and raising it’s voice…

With every ounce of freedom there is a ton of captivity…to keep you hidden from harm…