A spectral figure – a man apart.
His weary dreams, nourished with tears, hang by a thread,
as his faith grows disillusioned with disappointment.
In spare time, he walks alone, consoled by the company of despair.
Silently, he pores over his life.
But all he sees are shadows
of what he once was or could have been.
He looks to the future, but it stares back at him – blank.
He rues his tired mistakes and mislaid chances.
Now, the voices in his head tell him
he has nothing more to give.
As she holds her face and peers into the darkness;
she finds sacrificed dreams slipping through her palms.
She prays that the aged pain would stumble out the door
and leave her time to grieve.
She worries that the years ahead hold less hope than those that long sprinted past her gaze.
She weeps for her overdue happiness and stalled ambitions.
As she casts an eye back into the future,
she renounces the ravenous hands of time stealing her youth
now that the good times are harder to come by.
Shame chokes the path back to prosperity;
as the voices in her head shout – failure!
And refuse to shut up.
Not even the most gracious mirrors of time bring them solace.
The intense wrinkles in their brows tell the story;
of disbelief – gentle hostility.
They sit together, alone, inside a magnificent broken home;
sipping on life like a strong scotch on the rocks; chilled but smouldering.
They know their best years are quickly, quietly evaporating,
but they are still too afraid to jump.
Life now requires its pound of flesh.
The nights continue to yell in rowdy silence.
Dull ambient music enters centre stage
as harsh ballads of voices shout out loud – mouths closed.
They make an effort to talk…
but never to each other
