noel411
09-10-2007, 06:39 PM
He’s miserable and glum and invisible to some,
His skin is cool and numb, swimming in a pool of scum,
The hate starts to rise from where his heart lies,
The contempt in his eyes is no longer disguised,
But he never holds a gaze long enough to burn a hole-
In the soul of another as he struggles for control,
In his tension he senses the judging minds of others,
He’s smothered in a bind and can’t find his mother,
If he takes you on a tour through the depths of his mind,
You might be surprised when observing what you find,
You abuse the gift of sight by acting like you’re blind,
That’s the very reason why he shies away from your kind,
Frustrated by observations of human behaviour,
If he could articulate his thoughts he’d be the new saviour,
He believes he holds the keys to a deeper understanding,
He just can’t find the words to make people understand him,
Often he wonders exactly when things turned,
He was once flying high but then his wings burned,
He forever yearns to return to that past glory,
But is stern that he can’t turn the course of his story,
It seems strange and deranged that although he dreams of change,
The plans he makes to break free will never be arranged,
He’s lost his motivation and his self belief,
The self deprecation robbed him like a thief,
He believes he knows himself inside and out,
But perceives that some things leave him in doubt,
Like why he’s so critical of those he cares about the most,
How he’ll shrug them off and ignore them like they’re ghosts,
How he won’t get close to almost anyone he knows,
How he’ll sow a seed of hate and watch it slowly grow,
All the while longing for the comfort of friendship,
As his pen drips from a tense grip, the end slips,
A man of infinite potential and limited credentials,
At times his anger is torrential, sometimes inhibited and gentle,
So many years of apathy, he’s now sedate and numb too,
So many fears, a trap that he’s created and succumbed to,
The years pass by and his peers ask why-
Won’t he let the past die and give it one last try?
And he tells himself the same, but it doesn’t help him change,
You can see him through the flames as they move into his range,
He sees a rich and boastful man, contempt and hate rises,
It’s the struggling down and outers with whom he sympathises,
He’d just as soon kill a man, stand and curse his mother,
As he’d reach out a helping hand and try to guide another,
He might be your brother, the guy who reads the nightly news,
He might be your friend, he might be me, he might be you,
There’s feelings we can’t help revealing, this is a rule,
But others stay hidden deep inside…invisible.
His skin is cool and numb, swimming in a pool of scum,
The hate starts to rise from where his heart lies,
The contempt in his eyes is no longer disguised,
But he never holds a gaze long enough to burn a hole-
In the soul of another as he struggles for control,
In his tension he senses the judging minds of others,
He’s smothered in a bind and can’t find his mother,
If he takes you on a tour through the depths of his mind,
You might be surprised when observing what you find,
You abuse the gift of sight by acting like you’re blind,
That’s the very reason why he shies away from your kind,
Frustrated by observations of human behaviour,
If he could articulate his thoughts he’d be the new saviour,
He believes he holds the keys to a deeper understanding,
He just can’t find the words to make people understand him,
Often he wonders exactly when things turned,
He was once flying high but then his wings burned,
He forever yearns to return to that past glory,
But is stern that he can’t turn the course of his story,
It seems strange and deranged that although he dreams of change,
The plans he makes to break free will never be arranged,
He’s lost his motivation and his self belief,
The self deprecation robbed him like a thief,
He believes he knows himself inside and out,
But perceives that some things leave him in doubt,
Like why he’s so critical of those he cares about the most,
How he’ll shrug them off and ignore them like they’re ghosts,
How he won’t get close to almost anyone he knows,
How he’ll sow a seed of hate and watch it slowly grow,
All the while longing for the comfort of friendship,
As his pen drips from a tense grip, the end slips,
A man of infinite potential and limited credentials,
At times his anger is torrential, sometimes inhibited and gentle,
So many years of apathy, he’s now sedate and numb too,
So many fears, a trap that he’s created and succumbed to,
The years pass by and his peers ask why-
Won’t he let the past die and give it one last try?
And he tells himself the same, but it doesn’t help him change,
You can see him through the flames as they move into his range,
He sees a rich and boastful man, contempt and hate rises,
It’s the struggling down and outers with whom he sympathises,
He’d just as soon kill a man, stand and curse his mother,
As he’d reach out a helping hand and try to guide another,
He might be your brother, the guy who reads the nightly news,
He might be your friend, he might be me, he might be you,
There’s feelings we can’t help revealing, this is a rule,
But others stay hidden deep inside…invisible.