twenty-seven

The Road To Hell Is Paved With Good Intention

Holden in The Catcher
Talked a lot
People said he was not "pro-active"
But just how much control
Can a teenager have?
And that was in the Fifties

Now
I'm 38 in 09
And feel 16
Almost as much as lost
And powerless
As fifteen in the fifties

The cyan sky dims
To grey, then deep dark blue
The street is the same as its always been
Same voices, same noises
Same arguements and shouting
The same cars parked in the same driveways

And sometimes the sun shines so hard on the road
That when it rains it smells of factories
The industrial smells people used to know so well
They took it to bed with them and woke up with them
And now it is as redundant as nature


I wake up
At 8am, I'm full of joy
By 4pm, the day is gone
By 8, I'm too tired
By 10, I am drinking
By 12, I am bored of that day

My Grandad said
"Hell is paved with Good Intentions"
He painted bridges, on canvases
In the style of an Anglicised Manet
They never got shown