PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Lost in the beginning
with the children falling from the ceiling
into the oceans of within each floor tile
to be lost beneath the footsteps
of their peers
but only to those looking in
from the windows down the hall
because yesterday they were locked out
with their speaking privileges having been revoked
through the loss of their vocal cords
(along with they rest of their throat, while they were at it)
by someone elses's hand.

The subtle sarcasm
can be (and is) lost when spoken by the walls
     (thank God for subtitles)
because the anticipating audience
wasn't anticipating this,
     now were they?

"The author defines the tone with what?"
Wait,
he had a tone?
He sounded pretty deadpan to me.
And after being hit with that frying pan
when his wife found him in bed with the neighbor boy
who could blame him for feeling empty?

But that's just another tid-bit from yesterday
that was lost behind curtain number three,

option 3. Don't claim sexuality is binary. 
And you lost it, by the way,
because you just had to pick the other one:
curtain number two --
something about being in the middle.
Damn your love for attention.

There is a point to this,
you know,
although it, too, was lost behind curtain number three.

     Yesterday holds all the secrets.

There are whispers of a concept (however);
of a ghost that reeks of peers
who were falling into floor tiles
as the nonconformists conformed to all those other individuals
who gasped for breath outside the windows that had been barred shut yesterday
and the conformists could claim to, "be on the outside looking in"
and paint themselves the color of jade they try so hard to accomplish.

They glare at the guy who chose curtain number three
and threw yesterday away
because he was horny
(Or maybe that's just me).

But yesterday was bullshit.
(Odd how we always try to save what is so unimportant)
so if he's out of place then so am I
because I would have done the same.

I, too, like having options.