03-22-2010, 06:26 PM
Your drunk guitar teacher
on stage begged me
to watch over you
in this jam-packed bolgia.
Tobacco fog permeated the air.
The fiends around us,
in black shirts and tattered jeans,
raised their pitchfork fingers
as thunder broke out
from their beer-reeked mouths.
Your attention fixed on stage,
listening to the noise of guitars
screeching through the amplifiers,
and cymbals crashing
like shattered bottles on concrete.
You were barely 16
sipping your can of soda,
exclaiming to me
your view of anarchy.
“Can you see it now?
Amidst the chaos sprouts a rose!”
Yet, all I saw
was you.
on stage begged me
to watch over you
in this jam-packed bolgia.
Tobacco fog permeated the air.
The fiends around us,
in black shirts and tattered jeans,
raised their pitchfork fingers
as thunder broke out
from their beer-reeked mouths.
Your attention fixed on stage,
listening to the noise of guitars
screeching through the amplifiers,
and cymbals crashing
like shattered bottles on concrete.
You were barely 16
sipping your can of soda,
exclaiming to me
your view of anarchy.
“Can you see it now?
Amidst the chaos sprouts a rose!”
Yet, all I saw
was you.