Leftovermelody

Taking a creative writing class, got bored and started writing something, has no real structure, and it rhythms a lot, but eh, i dunno, few opinions would be nice.

Flames of shame reign down on the souls of men with no names, only numbers, fools who slumber in diseased houses built from smoldering lumber. Fools who grumble of pride and hope to stumble on gold, only bold enough to hold theories of life and death, a breath of fresh air only to a vandal, too weak to handle the thoughts of a mind defined by a tangled grapevine, straight lined to confusion, an allusion to truth, a ticket booth to a world where all they value is how you kill, but your mind, your will, only fill empty spaces, and the traces of your hopes and dreams only stitch the seams of ripped schemes sewn by business men, with more hope in their jobs than their kin. Whose only passion stems from a rational thought, so vague and misdirected that it spawns a realization that this plague of the infected was man-made, layed out, and displayed

__________________
My father was a haystack man, always said son go find what you can.
Said the guns get jammed up in the sand, don't let them try to fool you.

I said but daddy we ain't fightin' the Cong no more.
He said you're going over there to lose the very same war.
I said nothin' you can do is gonna make me stay,
Gotta let others have their glory day.

~State Radio