Post by theundergrad on Jan 12, 2007 10:08:37 GMT -5
Cold. cold, cold, cold winter nights. So white and cold. And black sky. Deep, void black. The round globe, and a magnifying glass into space. Void like a soul. Enormous and infinite. Deep and dark, with light here and there, but not strong enough to fill the black.
Then theres wind. And its a cut from glass. Piercing my skin and stinging. Cold and sharp. Cold, cold cold winter nights.
The streets whisper to each other. The wind is whipping threw them, there's small places to go, but you can never completely hide.
Never felt alive. Just now. Bus pulling up, not mine, lights glare and show falling snow.
Somewhere thers a dead corn field. The snow's covering it up now, and bare trees mourn across the field. Brittle branches get swung around. One house sits and waits for sun. One light inside. One little person sitting there in a chair, lonely. Cracking fire for a friend.
Then the downtown, with its glass and stone. Desperatly empty places and shops. All longing for some fill, can't stand to be empty. Just on edge now, where's the crowd? And a cold cruched figure huddles in fright and frigedness. Tucked into the corner there by a shop. Wishing for that house in the field, wishing for the warmth family gives.
Cold, cold, cold winter nights. Next bus, not mine again. The windows fill up with cold red faces. The lights turn on inside when it stops. Then all goes black and it drives off into the void. A quiet hum as it disappears. Wind picking up, and stinging more now. Snow flying more. Night moving on. Stars against the black. Each their own little house in the field. Lonely lights. They shimmer and more appear. Its too cold to look. Bunker down, and stare at my boots.
Where's a bus? Shiver in my knees and chin. Cold touches my bones. My flesh and blood seem frozen in ice.
The smoke is rising out of the chimney still, but the light shuts off in the house in the field. The person sleeps, warm and safe from the tortures of downtown streets. The figure still struggles for breath in the corner. Waiting for a friend? What friend could make you wait there?
That cold, black void out there is in here too. It's my soul out there. The cold dark void, with its scattered stars. Scattered moments of light. Scattered places of life. Scattered in the great, cold, black void. Cold, cold, cold winter nights. So black and cold.
Then theres wind. And its a cut from glass. Piercing my skin and stinging. Cold and sharp. Cold, cold cold winter nights.
The streets whisper to each other. The wind is whipping threw them, there's small places to go, but you can never completely hide.
Never felt alive. Just now. Bus pulling up, not mine, lights glare and show falling snow.
Somewhere thers a dead corn field. The snow's covering it up now, and bare trees mourn across the field. Brittle branches get swung around. One house sits and waits for sun. One light inside. One little person sitting there in a chair, lonely. Cracking fire for a friend.
Then the downtown, with its glass and stone. Desperatly empty places and shops. All longing for some fill, can't stand to be empty. Just on edge now, where's the crowd? And a cold cruched figure huddles in fright and frigedness. Tucked into the corner there by a shop. Wishing for that house in the field, wishing for the warmth family gives.
Cold, cold, cold winter nights. Next bus, not mine again. The windows fill up with cold red faces. The lights turn on inside when it stops. Then all goes black and it drives off into the void. A quiet hum as it disappears. Wind picking up, and stinging more now. Snow flying more. Night moving on. Stars against the black. Each their own little house in the field. Lonely lights. They shimmer and more appear. Its too cold to look. Bunker down, and stare at my boots.
Where's a bus? Shiver in my knees and chin. Cold touches my bones. My flesh and blood seem frozen in ice.
The smoke is rising out of the chimney still, but the light shuts off in the house in the field. The person sleeps, warm and safe from the tortures of downtown streets. The figure still struggles for breath in the corner. Waiting for a friend? What friend could make you wait there?
That cold, black void out there is in here too. It's my soul out there. The cold dark void, with its scattered stars. Scattered moments of light. Scattered places of life. Scattered in the great, cold, black void. Cold, cold, cold winter nights. So black and cold.