by Lily Seabrooke

Created on: August 18, 2008

The Pilot.

There was a wreckage and a liar
A sympathetic hart on fire
Three days alone in blackest night
Memories the providing light
A cooling touch and only treasure
Relief from pain bringing pleasure
The man in white without a number
Words to fill his vicious hunger
Nothing left but brief shame
Two faces behind a photoframe
A third who checks his measurements
An angel who is heaven sent
A stranger that is not himself
But familar to someone else
No doubt somewhere there's something
Why men have died before their kind
He's told by the face in white
He'll have a name before tonight
A time to sleep without pills
Dreaming of past distant ills
A day further without a phone
The frame is gone and he's alone.

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