Heidi Sincuba

Might have been yesterday … was it today
The snow came a tumbling, obscuring the day
The softness caressing the temperate white
Shifting the sound and then bending the light
The matter was then what the warmth would become
To separate workers from those that have none
But none would admit that the sign was as clear
As their city structures erected with fear
Who knows when it started and when might it end
Beyond the horizon, alas round the bend
In spite of the verses and beaming facades
Thereś no inspiration, no comforting cards
It seems never ending, it keeps dragging on
It seems those unburdened are those who are gone
The ones in the coffins beneath our feet
In unopened ledgers that name our streets
If this is the same clock that ticked in their times
Then there is no need for reciting the lines
There is no excitement in having a look
As there is no joy in repeating a book
Itś not a surprise then that death does appeal
The only component that seems to be real

You threw me in the deep dark pit, they say to put me to the test
I hurt myself and looked at you to show that I had done my best
And still I felt your hand press down, you piled it on and stepped aside
They told me still that that was life, to give and take it in my stride
But then they left me in this place to let me sort it out alone
The lessons had afforded nought, not remainder, no scrap, no bone
I begged for you in that dry hour, in spite of my stark disbelief
I wanted then as I do now, a simple helping hand - relief
I swore I would give everything, if you would just sprinkle your dust
In hysterics I sacrificed - my family, my friends, my lust
No wonder I am sitting here as saved as any man can be
You must have watched me woefully, creating my own tragedy