What Their Melody Foretells.
Updated on January 23, 2010
What Their Melody Foretells.
The wind chimes
moan their sad litany,
sounding much like
the tin plated passion
of illicit lovers in
dark motel rooms,
solid tubes banging
against hollow ones
blown by the
forces of fate.
Thin walls carry
the sounds of
love forbidden,
like the tightly
stretched skin
of a drum.
In separate
rooms alone,
homelier men
far from home
turn down their T.V.'s
and listen to what they
have long been
absent from.
Wishing, longing,
tossing and turning
on strange sheets
scented not with perfume
but with the faint
odors of bleach.
Just down the road,
another moan rises,
after the hollow tube
of a 44 magnum,
ejaculates a different
kind of passion.
Leaving breathless
a 22 year old,
in the dust behind
a 7-11 counter,
as a thief of dreams
empties the
cash register
and the soul
of an innocent victim.
Just another
Saturday night
in Any-town U.S.A.
as backyard decorations
clash like the
bells of hell,
composing the
chaotic songs
of mankind who
are anything but.
© -MFB III