Sometimes the pain is unyielding,
deeply plunged with serrated edges.
Only you can see the ghoulish images
stuck on repeat, record, rewind, replay…
Brother take my hand because I understand
how the weather won’t efface, nor time erase,
the graffiti on the wall of your remembrance,
bleeding paint, rolling from those crying eyes.
Why does midnight seem so dark and cold
when you’re feeling strapped and alone?
While Insomnia wrestles your demons away,
daylight can’t seem to come soon enough.
But it eventually does Brother, it does!
See… the bleeding has stopped for a while.
When you looked out of your window
and saw that other artists had been at work…
Painting their own graffiti walls, you knew
that there were others outside just like you,
chasing ghosts at midnight, in frenzied spritz,
their pain transformed into nobel–prized art.
We’ll rise from the ashes again Brother!
Take my hand, you may lend me yours too.