Along the Boulevard of Sorrows

A parade of the broken hearted drifts along sorrow’s boulevard. Ashen-eyed and ghost-homed, they know not where they’re going. Their magnetic north: a ballad shambles. For too long, they’ve been buried deep within a grave of wounds. Made dizzy-footed by these disorienting times. Their voices moored to stones that can only recite the bomb’s gospel. The broken hearted don’t ask for much, just to be heard. Above the grinding gears of our world’s unforgiving machines, I hear the parade cry out: never dream you have forgotten how to dream.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s