THE CRITICS

this is my inspiration, this why i say
the paper is before me, but my ink bottle spills
oh so many experiences, but i must pick one
but the words i say, i fear that they might burn

what if they hated everything?
and stupidly i'd give them all that i wrote
and now my callus hands grab for all my being
they turned their backs, took away my hands and all my things

i wrote all i knew and felt, and they just toss it away
i can feel their laughter, it cuts into my veil
angry thoughts run through my head, i am not finished
i wish the sarcasm would go away

and now my callus hands hold onto emptiness
they took from me everything
they turned their backs on me and took away my hands
shredded everything
all my love for them has turned bad
they won't let me be or never will i see

© 1997 thomas bates