Skylark of the Dark

Words trickle down my mind

playing sentiment’s broken chord

Like a child I slide down

its rails, who says I’m too old

to hope for the best to unfold?

Trouble is my staircase

I live for its thrill, what a race?

I hide my face in the shadows

but expose my back to its lashes.

After all, what are clothes for?

Sometimes dreams tumble

down with a thud and dribble

my memories like a pain so cruel

from a candle that’s lost its kindle.

Never mind, that I can handle!

I turn my tears like a pillow

fluffed for a better tomorrow

but there’s no escape from today.

Like a pendulum I continue to sway.

I am a bell that tolls all the way.

My heart is a harp with a crack

made to cut chords with a knack

My days walk me like a plank

straight into a bad prank!

I’m not perfect so cut me some slack!

Now my spine is arched

like a stairway larked

with sorrow and hatred.

I am the skylark of the dark-

with a quill for a bill and blood for ink!

Author's Notes:

Hope is a game for those who know how to throw and let go but don't mind catching some from time to time