The Fair

By Stone Bryson

Hello?… Who are you?

How did you know my name?

The eyes of my very center are yours

just the same.

Is this a dream that’s screaming,

of are you really sad?

Do you find me angelic,

or am I Satan’s lad?

Pointless information,

you simply can’t be real.

Talking to my spirit,

my life you are to steal.

Whitewashed daisies are dancing

in the yard,

screaming for someone to help them -

so hard.

Is my mind so stable,

so as you believe.

Crossing the street of madness

hoping to relieve.

Panic will soon beseech me -

dreams will be smashed.

All of my hopes, with a twist

of the doorknob will be trashed.

My eyes are too unstable,

completely blank of life.

Look into the hallway,

A black rose you will find.

All of the doors are screaming,

which one do I choose?

Does it really matter...

any way I lose.

Knock, knock?… I cannot hear you,

you’ll have to kick down the door.

Next time… that you see me

you’ll have to scrape me off the floor.

So long, everybody.

Sorry I cannot stay.

Whitewashed daisies are screaming,

today is my day.

No need to be sad now,

no need for you to cry.

You know that I will miss you

but I say it’s time to die.

Loneliness, it does haunt me,

my sweetie, are you there?

I hope to soon join you

at the fair.

Copyright © 2004 Stone Bryson.  All Rights Reserved.

Written July 1987

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