SITTING ON THE ROOF

July 24, 2013
chris

This is another long poem, sorry. I sometimes get carried away once in the zone…

I watch as the clouds roll silent across my view

They seem sad sometimes

Like myself

They drift endlessly

Like myself

With a meaning without meaning

A purpose

Whatever that may be

Sometimes I sit on the roof and wonder

I try to think of what purpose may be

I try to find the real me inside the shell I have created

From country to county

From town to town

I always catch a glimpse of the man

Going around the corner

Merging with the crowd

Building a mold

Like a butterfly within a cocoon

Soft music slips silent across the rooftop

Drifting with the smoke from the chimneys

Down into the valley of the ignorant below

Down into the drama of individual plight
Down into the sorrow and the hope

They bathe in the same tub

Mixing their dirt

Both leaving dirty towels for someone else to pick up

Little specks of smoke linger on the shingles

Not wanting to travel with the rest of the sheep

The lemmings

Like I

I feel like the black sheep within a family where I am the only child

Forever fighting to find the others I had lost

Whether they exist or not

The missing piece to my soul

My phantom

My Opera

Creating my masterpiece for none to see

Under the mask that hides the horrors within

Trying to become the one thing I could look at in the mirror

When morning comes

Dreaming of flying

Arms stretched wide

Feeling the cold air as it freezes my lungs

Watching the sun as it rises to greet another new day

The orange turning to red

Embracing the blue

As one by one the stars vanish

Like hope

In child’s room

When their father comes home drunk

After the night before

When promises were sworn

When words were spoken that said

No more drinking

Things are going to change

Shouting and breaking glass

Echoing into the rising sun

As sirens scream their mantra

Telling the tale of some poor bastard

More worse off than you

Let loose the dogs of war

Upon the man next door

Let loose your wrath

While your father beats your mother

The domino effect

It affects all

It seems

Slipping through the clouds

Watching the green hills roll

We always think of the country

Be it rolling green hills or beautiful mountain tops

Where only tranquility can be found

We so truly are the fools

To think that a place creates the moment

It is the person

The people

They create the moment

Within the confines of the place

Within the confines of the shell

The soul

Such a shallow thing

Is the soul

So easy to break

So easy to sell

Like old china on Ebay

Sitting on the roof I watch as people go by

You know

No one ever looks up anymore

When I was young I stood

Staring up into the sky

As an adult I stand

Staring up into the sky

Staring into something

Sitting on the roof I wonder

Just what that something is

As the world goes to hell I always wonder

I’m no Saint

I litter

Shout at those I proclaim to love

I have dove into the deep end of hypocrisy

Coming up smelling of roses

I am human after all

Yet how many care

At the end of the day

How many truly give a shit

For the actions throughout their lives

How many people at the end of the day sit on a roof

Wondering what will happen to the strings of smoke

Painfully clutching to the shingles

Wondering what happens to those people

That never looks up

To those that live within those rolling green hills

So filled with the same hate and love

As that child confined to the city

The same lost love drifts endlessly

The same Evil lurks in the dark alleyways

Waiting for the foolish or the lost

Location has nothing to do with misery

Nor happiness

We create our world

Our worlds

We create that which we wish to see

We let the drunk beat us

The greedy steal from us

The foolish be used by us

We are no better than those we persecute

Unless we sit on the roof

Unless we watch the sun as it rises

As it sets

Unless we understand our reason for living

Without it we are nothing

A shell

Molded from the faceless souls

As we merge with the crowd

To create the shell we hide in every day

My words go around in a circle

An end without end

A meaning without a meaning

In reality I could go on forever

Yet why should I?

When this edge invites so sweet

The drop so deep

The bottom far from view

They say you pass out before you hit the ground

I love that

Like you could ever ask someone that did it

It’s a fail-safe comment that could never be questioned

Like faith

Never question a person’s faith

It’s a road to nowhere

Like the Crusades

Never a thing accomplished

In the name of Gods

Except for death

The domino effect

The one thing that is a given

We can hide from the taxman

We can move

Death

Is a given

Like war

We are human after all

The battle for Supremacy

It’s a given

Like a lie to your child

No matter how small

One day you shall do it

The foundation shall crack

Human nature

Like a relative that can’t keep their hands to themselves

A promise kept

A hatred born

Sitting on the roof

The clouds pass silently by

Like they shall long after I am gone

As they have to so many others

Whose families have long forgotten them

Dust in the ground

Some faceless figure in a picture

That fought in some war or another

Their picture

Found under a bed

Like the rotting corpse

Dying along with their Headstone

Surrounded by the long grass rolling over the hills

Down into valley of a peaceful town

A town on a postcard

Stuck to the fridge

In a home of a child dying from the inside out

Her father shouting pointless nothings

As empty beer bottles scatter to the four winds

The only thing keeping her alive

The rolling green hills

Of the town she hopes one day she would live

Be a part of

To have some meaning

She stares at it while her mother pleads for quiet

She stares at it as he father passes out

One thought on her mind

Peace

Tranquility

Funny what we think peace really is

Sad that we think tranquility is something a world could obtain

Without a lobotomy

Sitting on the roof I wish I could cry

Something I haven’t done properly for many years

Never sure why

My father maybe

So instead I stare at the clouds

At the colors the sun makes through the clouds

At the people passing by unawares

Uncaring maybe

I was never sure which was what

So thin the veil between the two

Somewhere in the distance I listen to the child

As she decides enough is enough

Somewhere a siren screams

As a man dies

Somewhere a mother creates a little white lie

A given

A mother’s choice

Little white lies don’t matter

Just a few words

Nothing more

To create something so much better

Sitting on the roof

I feel no sorrow as his body is removed

I like every other

Become the hypocrite

As green hills beckon

Sitting on my roof like a watcher

A fool

A figure to forget

Like her father

A faceless figure

In a crowd

Becoming one

With the thing you fear the most

The one reason

I sit on a roof

The one place

Where no one ever looks up

Like the rolling green hills

A distant dream

A hope