Evening

It’s the feeling that you’ve been left behind
When you have fear to step onto the ground
Because you don’t want to leave your trace

It’s the hot wet summer in the desert
Where sweat makes you feel the desolation
And you are barely feeling conscious

The fire orange tone of the evening
Swinging on the old rocking chair
Like in the old west when there was a past

That past when I was left nothing to do
Watching at an old TV with a rustic fan
Or sometimes listening to the radio station

The tediousness in the bar and cottage
The shadows of desperation in that tree
A calm desperate moment lasting hours.

by Wullien Thang

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