Write Walls and Cages

The mind has the skull, the tongue is behind teeth, and the heart is behind bars and I realize that it is a good reason for all of that. “Write Walls and Cages” why are my fingers still out on bail or today they serve as jailers just maybe.

Can’t you keep it down
Now I’d say something dumb
but pride comes before the fall
and for that crime
we were doing the time
for all the things he thought he knew when we were young
insane in the membrane
He’s how I got my start

Only you played your part
You’re the one that brought our shame
For running your tongue
crossing every damn line
Are you that blind?
Won’t take your blame is all,
worse you’re a no good lazy bum
letting the fingers pound

Wait a minute maybe we weren’t the ones
No, no, no, “it’s” the one to blame
Damn the heart
Who knows what he’ll find
For dollars, no sense, but then some DIME
Maybe we shouldn’t be so loud
He lives in a cage but um
That’s why he can’t read the writing on the wall

You were meant to be confined
Why must we remind

Copyright © 2017 Second Circle Creations, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

 

Mime No More

This is what happens when you speak; I mean my penname is “Marquis de Joker” yeah I’m a clown but I don’t have any jokes, I am the joke, makes me a mime. Mime No More… might find out Saturday, my writing was certainly a joke with HR, maybe.

And he would have been sorry
if he could get a grip
of his love-struck heart; boring
But a pink slip
is gruesome and gory
This is it

With his name on the dotted line
He would walk right out the door
Or he would pretend this time
Only what’s the truth there for
Fine
He’ll ask God once more

Oops
right, he was too damn loud
Talked at all, big whoops
Because he’s a clown and how
For just one big group
Mankind… and he was bound

To want to be one of you
Because of “her”
Pretend, that’s what they do
Wouldn’t you rather…
Well it doesn’t matter; he told the truth
Why was there laughter

if he wasn’t funny
Not enough or too much
Well anyway there goes the money
Where is the love
Suppose he should die really
Because what’s to become should he see

It’s all there in black and white
Line by line and they didn’t have to find
pencil, paper, evidence in sight
Can’t you see his crime?
Guess it wasn’t very bright
There goes his job of being a mime
Sorry is the word that never comes out right

Copyright © 2015 Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.