The Thought
poetic scribble by Bob Axell 2009


Someday when I fall down
Under blankets of velvet brown
I might rise up again instead
In a bed of brimstone red

And the sky might be made of stone
Without space to reach up and flee
From the world which I'll know as home
Much unknown to humanity

But even though there is no sky
There may be no darkness there
Eternal fires shatter the cries
That transcend from my newfound lair

At night I might hear their whispers
Those of my friends and of their foes
Of all the people I in life held distant
And all the fiends I composed and chose

I might eat from the grandeur scattered
On the ground in form of thorny buds
That all but quench my thirst and hunger
Constantly starving underneath their bloods

In my nightmares I'm always falling
And when I wake my inconsistances scream
Sometimes it seems that reality is calling
But I still never wake up from this dream