Be forewarned, this poem transitions from thought to thought and at times is a little dark.
But I just thought 'hey it's 2am you know what sounds good? random poems.'
We're all lost in the threading of the worn out carpet,
Unwinding, unending, unaware of the aging price we pay,
We all want the comforts of home, the smell of the fire old and warm,
We're all the glow of the remnants of sunset, not yet ready to go inside, not yet ready to say goodbye.
We're all the comfort of the red clay dirt,
The kick of our heels as we race for first,
Now all that's left is dust and rust from toys that once we called home,
Now all that's left is a dirty old book holding memories that prides keeps from having a look.
We're all in a tunnel that's dark and far,
The scars, the scare, the scrapes, the things we say are just too hard,
Hard to keep, hard to see, hard to hold on it's killing me,
Hard to hope, hard to want, and we won't even acknowledge the things we've made.
Made a story, made a look, made a name for all that would otherwise be lost,
Make love, make war, make peace, make nice, make noise, make something that you can hold,
Hold it high, hold it dear, we all just want something, need something,
Something, otherwise we just fade.
Fade like colors of an old carpet, unwinding.