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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Dark · #2264932
The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation - Thoreau
Midnight Rue

Pastoral flocks in tranquil scenes
show simple love and life serene.
But fortune sings a siren song;
adventure leads a young man on.

Where now the boy who tended sheep?
Gone to the city bereft of sleep.
From azure skies with endless view
to smog-tinged walls and midnight rue.

Reddish pulses in late-night heat;
he lies awake 'neath sweat-damp sheet.
LED segments marching on,
marking time as he waits for dawn.

The tender shoots of hopeful spring,
now dry and bent, don't mean a thing.
Wrong turning points, poor choices made,
a playback loop of plans mislaid.

Soul-suck job and social striving,
endless climb without arriving.
Achieving goals instead of dreams,
a brittle smile hides silent screams.

The fear of want, and wanting more
can blind us to the narrow door.
God's love leads up, where Angels dwell,
but Hell's a place we send ourselves.

Author's note:

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