Hope

Jaded old Man-why do you weep? Isn't your way always what happens, don't you have a way of your own?

Bitter old woman, where is your mind? I feel it was left in a story back in time. At time where your Chesnut hair made the crowd turn, your personality adorned you like an immaculate gown.

Why do you feel your heart pound? Why do you NEED that polyphonic sound? A click of a button is what you desire, to drown your lifes work in a single hour.

Or does addiction make for a better friend than a simple sound? Something to hold, cradle and grow- an addiction that eats, even others you know.

No, I think addiction likes you best- to knead and pound, to hold you to its chest.

Now your captive to its snare, bounding and leaping, crawling to its every whim as you try and please its innermost desire, its very souls care. For its no longer a simple thought or passtime, no. Now its a full blown monkey on your back, clawing at your skin, at your face, at your very life, now in the sack.

Your illigitimate love child now screaming your name- calling you back to hope if you'd only listen, if you'd only came.