Catching Flies - the poem pt. 2

The giving of new names to things much too old
is like a rhythm that’s beating in a marching bands wake
every disembarked dream leaves a mark on the soul
like a tattoo that’s pressed too hard right where it aches

And in the meantime
and in this mean world

All of this abandoned belief is now catching flies
all of these ghost of future past are running wild

Like the waves endlessly crashing on the edge of my town
there’s a silhouette of a welcome sign that’s been torn down
there’s a think tank that runs over all of my thoughts
bleeding the last drop of hope from my sky

(c) Adil Salik