Beyond those skeleton days
Beyond the slashed feelings and pumping blood
Broken hearts mend, wounds heal,
And eventually scars form and fade
(I am a man of scars)
One foot in front of the other
You can discover
Shattered bones knit
The long game players don’t quit
(I have lived through a lot of broken bones)
And the storms may rage, and trees may fall
A home that’s broken is no home at all
On the morning tide something good might just wash up
Beyond the pain the sun will always come up
(I belong to the sun and the sea, but never that broken home)
Rain crashed against the window pane
But it didn’t really matter
He was wrapped in the safety
Of coffee shop warmth
Amongst favourite smells
Safe from sleepless hell’s
Just reading the kiss and tells
Scribbling down the ideas
That the fresh inked pages seed
He had once called himself
The king of the liars
And was reminded of the fact
Whilst he stirred his coffee
And the singer sang ‘To a writer the truth is no big deal’*
Truth of course has its absolutes
But most truths are hidden in the grey
Shrouded in the things we never say
Nobody had wanted his truth, not even him
Even if he had spoken it when it had really mattered
No one was listening
It was a silent death
In a small wood, next to a ploughed field
Amongst the dead leaves, in the dank dark
On a cold, damp, autumn day
And everything he had been since then
Well, that had been, an invention, a lie
He had reinvented himself a dozen times
Committed a number of crimes
It was how he managed to survive
As he struggled to find his worth
A worth he finally found in her
Her safe arms, her deep love
Her innocent and happy care free ways
But insecurity and his soulless truth
Made her hard to keep
She was not to know
He will always be
The boy that never sleeps
The boy with shields of lies
The man that rarely cries
And though he had once died
He was still just a youth
And if you are a lie
How do you know the truth?
He couldn’t help
But be the man that never was
Some things are just because.
Some one, or some thing, makes us a lie,
Causes us to die
But of course even for him ‘Life goes on’*
It was just not the one
He was born to live
It seems apt that I should publish this in the week that one of my favourite bands announced that they are no more. ‘The King Of The Liars’ has been kicking about in my mind in one way or another for over a year. A poem/song that is in the past, future and present in the time it takes to drink a cup of coffee. Yet, though the idea was good and the raw emotions were there bubbling below the surface as they always are, it was the words of someone else that hit a chord and tied it all together. L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N.
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Pete Scribes 