Through the tiny honeycomb holes <br />his tortured words seep through <br />Cross legged, wide eyed, <br />mind pulsating we sat in blissful silence. <br /> <br />With the world outside muted <br />we dragged heavily the ciggarete smoke <br />consuming reality and time. <br /> <br />Legs tingled physically unrestricted <br />eased by circulating masseurs of <br />chemical harmony. <br /> <br />Cars passed by our window <br />an endless stream of life <br />Candles were given life, used and died. <br /> <br />Brothers in the arms of desperation, <br />bonded with a passion for escape. <br /> <br />Today I heard the song, it sounded the same <br />The singers dead now, ended his life <br />in the kitchen found dangling from the ceiling <br />Suspended in legacy. <br /> <br />The moment was great <br />yet the memory is packed with pain, <br />To reunite would turn the water in wine.<br /><br />Not Long Left<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/he-may-be-dead-but-he-sounds-the-same/
