Choices

What choices were they given?
pushed to extremes
beyond their means
lost all reasons for living

Into a narrow world
of cold slate gray
knowing of their reality
never having the perfect moment

Her ideal is not his own,
all the conflicting languages
and claustrophobic barriers,
filled with smoke and mirrors

A solitary light bulb
swinging back and forth
like some mad pendulum,
in this dusty mausoleum

Shadows are dispersed
dancing along the walls
flickering signs of reason
fading in and out

Cell phones held to their heads
like cocked guns,
playing mad Russian roulette
so they won't soon forget

Lost in an artificial prison
rejection was elevated
to an art form,
bound by some inner vision

Trapped within this skin
these eyes are windows to the soul
gazing out on a world
spiraling out of control

mathiasthom
written 6/10/11