Day 11: The Edge of Town (with Edit 1/12)

you walk into the bar at the edge of town, thinking just one drink will set you free
you walk into the bar at the edge of town, and you're greeted with reality

a man sits in the corner, gently strumming a five string guitar
the notes are out of place as he plays a sad song about a girl
who just fell through the cracks beneath the world

there is a woman at the bar, batting her eyes at the man just seats away
he is looking at her in return, smiling but there is nothing gentle in his eyes
his hook has sunk, and he knows this fish is one he is taking home

there in the corner, a t.v. glows a harsh light
and on the news there is a man saying that a man was killed
by his mother, by his father, by the world he never knew

behind the bar, the star of the scene is handing out misery
and taking tips in a jar, pennies and dollars, almost like blood money
he cashes in on some man or woman's broken down dreams of reality

the man with the guitar, he just plays on
transitioning from the sad song about the girl to another
about a small town bar at the edge of town

you just walk in, and the drink, it's no longer in the front of your mind
you know it would never be just one that'll set you free
impossibilities of the moment, it'll be hours before you're free

you sit down, and you watch a man on the phone
near the bathroom, you hear him say
"i'll be there for his game, i leave work in just an hour"

next to him, another women looks at the door
she hopes there is still sunshine on the outside
just a little, and maybe she'll find her way back home

a new face opens the door, and this one is young
maybe just 21, maybe here from school or work
and he goes to the bar, and says, "just a beer"

and you think, sitting in the bar at the edge of town
that this is reality
and that maybe this is hell.


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sorry about the small text for the poem, it wouldn't format the way i wanted it to with bigger texts.

[edit 1/12]: i just realized that this poem links to the poem on my first blog, which i am reposting here now... kinda cool to me because it wasn't planned and it was an old poem:

"coming down"

coming down
wouldn't you know
isn't quite like getting high

the numbers are never the same
it's always faster
on the way down

you wake up remembering
yesterday was a blur
just scenes from a bar on the edge of town

coming down
wouldn't you know
isn't quite like getting high

walking through the haze
seeing a movie frame by frame
never quite sure when you started filming

you live in this grey
watching the peeling colors
drift away on some living lie

coming down
wouldn't you know
isn't quite like getting high

the numbers are never the same
it's always faster
on the way down

you wake up remembering
yesterday was a blur
just scenes from the bar on the edge of town.