Tough Crowd

Like I've mentioned before, I like to dabble in other forms of writing to keep my creativity flowing. Here's a poem I write almost 5 years ago.

Tough Crowd

Singing songs for all this time,
Ignorantly ignoring the truth.
Through the crash of the drums,
Past the cold staring eyes,
And the silent but evident sighs.
Was it something I said?
Was it something I did,
That dashed the color, the joy from each face?

They just stare like the dead.
Their glares, knives at my throat.
To the Reaper, my career will fall.
Now knowing, yet knowing all along.
What a wonderful tragedy this will be,
As the last note rings endlessly in my head.

9/8/04

Waiting

I'm sitting here waiting
Wind in my hair
Blowing the pages
And I don't remember
What I was waiting for

It seemed so important
This bench that I found
All the people walking
But my mind is slip sliding
And passing me by
Just like the time

Sitting here waiting
Taking its toll
Like a marathon race
I'm out of shape for
When my wait's over
It'll just start again
If I knew where I was looking
I might find the end

Eric Frye
Stream of consciousness poem, 2002?