The Morning Call

Morning kills again,
The birds bring me the news
They spell out your name
All while whispering that cursed melody,
And breeze cuts through the skin
Like sharp little knives,
As does the smell of death
Through my soul,
But there's no blood
It's all gone, I'm dry
They have it all;
They have the day,
They have the night,
They own the sounds, and they own the sights
They rule life itself,
And all that is left for us is death
But even that I don't want
As long as it is theirs to give.

The ballet will shortly begin

The ballet would shortly begin
The moving sets, sound of their wheels
On a squeaking floor,
Cracking nervously under the blazing lights,
Announce a harsh union,
The sets will find their place

She, resting motionlessly in the middle,
A white tutu dressing her elegantly crafted posture,
And a town moves around her
Shaping an alley, cramped houses all across,
Scattered trees insincerely green,
And a colorless cafe on the right,
Echoed through, whistles
Of the supposedly invisible hands

Town, now caught up with the inanimate girl
Resumes its silence,
Her crossed legs
Hooking in the attention of two gentlemen
Sitting in the far corner,
But it's cut short
By the sharp frown on her face

The ballet will shortly begin
Her toes will touch the rhythm,
And the tutu will fly its wings
Once again,
And a tale will be told of a girl
And a life
And a world
That went by.