Placebo – Pure Morning
Listen to the song then read the poem 😉
He clambered up the walls of sorrow, nails bitten to the bone.
Upon the tops arrival, a stone and mighty throne.
As the path of pity began to twist, everything he said.
He pulled his hair till skin was bare, and soon cut of his nose.
Tree and bark he beat and larked, was quite an act to follow.
He dribbled down with a frown, not caring for the morrow.
A silent sword then stabbed him, and revived him back to life.
What about the children, the neighbours and the wife?
With himself he thwart, a hurtful thought, of helpless jurisdiction.
The sharp was there, a slither; a tear; till done was his distinction.
He kneeled in tranquil leer, at the nether after.
Scarlet wine, I think its mine, until there is a plaster.
As time slows still, he sits there till, the numbness fades to grey.
Was not long till things went wrong and he got locked away.
If not for a lowly fellow, believing everything he said.
He’d be caged up like an animal, or a shot-gun to the head!
By Stuart Otway-Smith
Day Forty Five: is what inspired me to write this poem.