The freaky visions of the future are out of left field: <br />In the land of the living dead they try to turn back time. <br />An endless wait is the reason they keep their eyes peeled. <br />The same wall those helpless ghosts every hour climb, <br />Missing love, good ole days, and the smell of house paint. <br />No one told them before that the mistakes could be fatal: <br />It is already too late for one trying to pretend to be a saint, <br />And they wonder if their injuries were acquired or natal. <br />In the gloomy domain where the angels don't ever fly <br />They feel like desolate caged birds with clipped wings. <br />Abandoned luckless spirits that are apples of no one's eye, <br />Around one another they attempt in vain to run rings.<br /><br />Aram Stefanian<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/they-20/
