How many times will you say the word no?
Should we beg and plead in order to go?
It Is this relationship working for us?
Remember the times you made such a fuss?
Will seventy-five per cent of us be enough?
Or would you just take one-quarter of our stuff?
Can anything help at this point in time?
Can our union withstand all this grime?
We chose hope over fear,
Votes cast makes that point clear,
We chose hope over fear,
As you point and sneer,
We choose hope.
It feels as though I let you all down,
The grey cloud above the perfect town,
A caterpillar who won’t become a butterfly,
Silent nothings that haunt your battle cry.
Patches of frost on newly bloomed rose,
A tiny hole in your beautiful new clothes,
The ugly duck in a lake filled with swans,
Decaying rust that muddies antique bronze.
Lurking in the shadows,
Keeping her on her toes,
Waiting patiently to pounce,
She will feel him trounce.
Slithering from a distance,
He has a ton of persistence,
The perfect moment will come,
She will have to succumb.
The bus drives down an empty street,
A man staggers home with two left feet,
Blue lights twinkle in the far distance,
As the woman wonders about her existence.
How quiet the town becomes at twilight,
We fear the monsters that lurk in the night,
Uncertainty of what creeps in the shadows,
A woman worries if these are appropriate clothes.
Silence slithers through the same familiar ground,
He is happy waiting for the perfect victim to surround,
No one around will listen when she cries out in pain,
The woman’s life will forever feel this very strain.
A burden she will carry with her through it all,
Times will be that tough she will fail to crawl,
Horrified at what the darkness could send her way,
This woman continues to fear it until this day.
The green monster rears its giant head,
Emerging from the depths for bloodshed,
Consuming every obstacle in its path,
Until all that is left is sheer wrath.
Why is everything so easy for others?
All I can do is hide under the covers,
Why am I constantly being disregarded?
Stuck with a mind that’s being bombarded.
A clock turns to midnight,
The will o’ the wisps come alight,
Leading to what you want so much,
Ten fingers and ten toes to touch.
