Sitting on the side of a concrete river,
Searching for even a slim sliver -
The tiniest ray, of any kind of hope;
To help my mind, attempt to cope.
The glare of the tall street lights,
Don`t help to ease this dark plight.
Trying to somehow detect,
The purpose of the stanzas I erect…
Other people passing with their friends
And in my solace, I prefer to pretend;
That, I too, was one of them;
As if, I was one of the newest trends.
Yet, I am lost in my own distant zone.
The emptiness has already grown;
It spreads like a cancer inside -
Slowly, painfully - eating me alive.
Still – nothing can possibly overpower
The fortitude in this fleshy tower.
The various exterior elements are insignificant;
Though their assaults, may cause an occasional dent.
Still - the tower stands, never spent;
Decaying daily, but yet to be rent.
Those howling winds, that hate, attempts to deploy;
The malicious energies, that are employed, seek to destroy.
Laughing at each new attempted volley;
Which strikes the tower, with utter folly.
All the prolonged, vast, empty blows;
Leaving damage that only superficially shows.
Failed attempt, after pointless try;
Lacking any strength and true creativity -
No more than just a vivid dream to me.
I`ll bring down the very sky:
To show them compositions, composed of cloud;
Lyrics to envelop, circumscribe and humble the proud,
With verbose flashes of vehement lightening -
Forever this tower, will ever remain fighting.
Composed By: Andrew Drucker
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