Voices from the Golden Hour

Poetry 0 comments

We’re kids who have seen too much,

But could only dream of war;

Just children who play the game

And on our sleeves keep score.

We traveled the world in our bottles

With messages tucked in our throats.

And silent we sit, told that if our words slip

They could tip over neighboring boats.


Our bones laced with capsules we’ve earned

From the nights that we’ve stumbled too far,

Each osteon pings with regret

And sends aches running down our lumbar.


We’ve spent so many nights on our knees

Making deals with the moon in the sky;

How come the only answers we’ve received

Are the flowerbeds pressed in our eyes?


We love far too hard and too reckless

and our lovers would call that a gift.

But we crash even steeper and gasp even deeper and

Plank walk right into the mist.


They’ll tell us to think but we’re mindless,

For we wasted our youth behind skulls.

They’ll tell us to stop but we(they)’re hopeless,

For we see more than imminent goals.


Raised under suburban skies

We saw stars and we gave them our pleas.

And we reached for each other as they shot ‘cross the sky

Letting go

When we saw

The reds blink.


We’d lose our very livelihoods for a chance at half a life.

We’d give our dom’nant hands, if you’d only let us write.


Maybe there is no magic.

Maybe the earth has no core.

And maybe we’re all losing sleep

For a sun that is sure to deplore.


We’re kids who’ve seen too much

But our beds are always there.

And we’re children whose souls are starving

Though our table’s never bare.


Nothing really matters

So it matters all the same

And if nothing truly matters

We’d give all to play the game.

Author lifebylexi

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