Jason

the sleeping dreamer
can’t live in the light of day.
life in full color.

the last breath a sigh.
the waiting and long good bye.
hollow men walking.

the dark valleys and the jagged cliffs
this isn’t the land i know
we wear the path smooth
the foreign land worn thin
a carpet thread bear from many steps.
few feet along the same groove.

the needle worn thin through the vinyl.
the stones polished by calloused feet.

this is not the land i ever knew.
a mute in the land of ruckus.
the wailing and the loud air from clenched lungs.
drowning in a turbulent coughing stream.

the lips tying knots to difficult to untangle
the heart driving the mind with a vicious lash.

this is not the land for the living
this is where the breathing come to sigh
let the soil worry about the deathly toil
let the ground mute life’s last sound.

the living have toil enough for a lifetime.
we’re all headed to the final curtain
the show must go on to the very end.
a stranger in a foreign land has no friends.