Monday, June 23, 2014

the book

by samantha monday sternwall

everybody has a book
being written inside their head
and no one will ever read it
not even when they are dead

in the book is the story of everyone
who will ever live and die
and if you could only read one page
you would sit right down and cry

everybody has a story
that only they can tell
and it all gets written down in a book
a book that will never sell

everybody is a dragon
a dragon they slay themselves
everybody is a wizard
with a book of spells on their shelf

everybody is a princess
leading the hero to his doom
everybody is an evil queen
plotting in a dark-draped room

everybody is friar tuck
hoisting a tankard of ale
everybody is guinevere
so beautiful and pale

everybody is blackbeard's cat
watching the wind fill the sails
everybody is a bulldog
wagging its stumpy tail

everybody is tarzan
swinging in the trees
everybody is sherlock holmes
watchng his bees in the breeze

everybody is robin hood
hiding in the woods
everybody is long john silver
bringing home the goods

everybody is cleopatra
floating down the nile
everybody is oscar wilde
stepping out in style

everybody is jesse james
shot in the back so sad
everybody is salome
born to be bad

everybody is samson
trying so hard to do right
everybody is delilah
whispering good night

everyone is dracula
taking what he can get
everybody is lucy
who can never forget

everyone is medusa's child
slowly turning to stone
everybody is a monster
walking the world alone

Saturday, June 14, 2014

down the last road

the mysteries of this world add up
sum to sum to sum
and yet there are depths, and depths and depths
no human should ever plumb

every grain of sand is a riddle
laughed at by the beach
every star is a laughing sage
with nothing to teach

every street has no beginning
every road has no end
every sunset has a message
that it will never send

there is a light in every window
that goes out as you draw near
there is promise in every smile
that dissolves in desperate fear

the beautiful people beckoned
but only in your dreams
now the streets are all deserted
as rain in the gutter streams

no cat or dog or police car
as far as you can see
or even a fellow drunkard
for pathetic cameraderie

the party goers have all gone home
vanished without a trace
there is a picture pasted on the lamp post
"wanted" - of your own face