from my book “Before the Bridges Fell”
They Had Sadness in their Eyes (Like in Littleton)
The sky has cracked Raining down a hail of tiny eyes Invading our space, we'd walk Walk into the crutches of the hall's shadows To hide in a new divinity. Away from the howling You feel the flooding in your hideaways Your shaking is the deadest of giveaways Melting in your sweat, in the fear Will the maiming of the words keep your mind quiet, can you forget it all? Such wonders is the wind when it acts in a manic swaying Those crippling leaves do tease us. To digress us in a blood trace waxing in the sticks and spoons Closets full of broken lights, tiny eyes like boomerangs across the sky. Watch me universally break apart the knife-stars Collecting all the falling dust in a skinny bag Flames scattering in our chase Schools of blue watch us outrun the lunar flood. Violence, anarchy from the treetops. The birds digest our mayhem to the streets. While gases and ashes run over the walls. We shout peace to walls like John Lennon, and then we watch the buildings burn and drink in the breaking glass. It was like someone broke in all the codes. That lead us to the pink of the sunsets crying. Our love is an infinite future. To become free from all we've yearned for. To feel complete, without the worries of hate. To present beauty through all the drizzling art. The world was too greedy to share We couldn't believe words as laws. So we continued fighting, lives are just scars to look at in our corners of a heaven. We continued gunning down true leaders. We took the beauty from our land, we danced a sad song to beautiful music and danced madly without listening to the message. Replaced it with angst, disgust while marketing mercenaries that bled green invades our kiss. A cyclops sees what a cyclops wants to eat. While with us, one eye is tears and One eye is drowned too deep to breathe. Like a life in Littleton. We shouted peace to the walls. And received the eye of war back. Just another cyclops. Practicing carbine rifles on mannequins. Listening for the echoes. Forgetting we can only dream ideally in silence. Ghosts they linger, and ghosts they whisper to all. Ghosts they love and ghosts they fall through Ghosts fade under pressure; ghosts suffocate on social screams. So, we hide under bridges until either gunfire or greed fades. In peace, unity, and love we can all blend together and move our orbs through Orion for a while. links: A Review of “Before the Bridges Fell” by David L O’Nan (review by Ivor Daniel) A Quicksilver Trilling by David L O’Nan : Poetry & Writing style lyrics inspired by Dylan Blurbs for my (David L O’Nan) upcoming book “Before the Bridges Fell" from Ron Whitehead Current bio for Fevers of the Mind’s David L O’Nan editor/writing contributor to blog. Hard Rain Poetry: Forever Dylan Anthology available today! Available Now: Before I Turn Into Gold Inspired by Leonard Cohen Anthology by David L O’Nan & Contributors w/art by Geoffrey Wren Bare Bones Writings Issue 1 is out on Paperback and Kindle
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