When did life assume the shape of a TV screen,
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A work-horse work week, and commute in between?
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As we masquerade the days we waste,
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Love's stuck on dusty shelves with feelings we forsake.
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Before you know it, they'll be selling us blood to bleed and air to breathe.
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Along with pre-packaged hopes and dreams that always stay an arm's length out of reach.
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I can't help thinking there's more than thoughtless repetition,
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On the porch all night telling stories,
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Outlasting moons when the rain is pouring down.
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Will we fight to take the reigns of our lives and find our own truths?
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Will we die to darker days and break ties with the hells we've walked through?
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It's not too late.
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-----------------
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In A Bottle
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| With Honor |
