Open Minded

I dream these things because they will come to pass Your thoughts reach out to me like a comet’s cosmic blast I keep telling your brain to shut the hell up, but it still wants to talk My head feels like a blackboard, so I guess yours is the chalk So tell me about your perversions, your thoughts your fantasies All I can do is smile wickedly, picturing you on your knees You think these things because I can’t control your thoughts So when I walk through graveyards souls of the dead walk into my mind and get caught They whisper tales of lives long spent Loves that drift like leaves broken from twigs ill bent Like curtains on wandering winds rushing through forsaken window panes Before a summer storm has spent it’s warm embalming rain Open minds make for easy targets, so paint a bull’s eye on my mind’s eye Stretch it across the heavens, and shout your ideas towards the sky Everyday I see frowns on faces while I’m driving by People with well lined faces marking every smile, denying every sigh This line is from when he cried last winter when love left him cold This wrinkle is from private joys that were too wicked to ever be told The stories your face tells cannot be covered by the foundation you wear Your makeup only lowers the volume of the travels you long to share Like shouting into a paper cup, or screaming into a well If I listen carefully I can hear your story and scream it back as well The joys of child hood that crease under your eyes, The balance of midlife in loved ones that are born and loved ones that die What I write is what I see, and what I see causes me to writhe But the thoughts you convey through the limp you walk with The pain in seeing an old man riding a bus not allowed to sit And the curses he screams, the regrets that he holds inside The attic of thoughts he has collected over decades is open wide In the sneer on his face, in the hate in his eyes And the old woman shows her despise In her curled up lip when my skin is no longer disguised When I come close enough for her to see that my accent is deceiving That I am not what she thought I would be so there is no forgiving For accidents, if you don’t look the right way, I hate being able to read the thoughts you convey Keep them and your words to yourself please I don’t want to see the emotions of others with this terrible ease Keep the cries of hungry babies for the deaf at heart And the hoarse breathing of the aged for those that live in the dark I don’t want to think these things and feel these fears Tell me how to close my mind off to escape these blood-inked tears I don’t want to hear what you think anymore I think these things because they will come to pass for sure… Copyright ©2001 AllisterWhat's your diagnosis? Written June 1st, 2001 © on Sep 19 2001 02:18 AM PST   0 • 9