Hadst thou seen the Wilted flowers of the sun?
And heard their Withered lips murmur the silence of decay?
Perhaps t'was mine sculpture of lies
Her arms severed
from her body, no longer capable of a single embrace.
Yet, these are the arts of man,
Truth branded with an expiration date.
However long though, hadst thou,
before thy life drifts away
With the dust on the faded photographs
Encased in bronze frames,
I shall stand upon this bridge over lilied waters, waiting.
For, the shadow of a light glimmering in thine eyes
under that fated setting sun at dusk
Shall be eternal.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Absinthe of Sweetness
Left, right, left, right
Left--left--I
Stumble, still one left
Away from making it right.
My swollen feet squash
From the weight of another---
I am quick, but
Alone.
My destination is
Void; and all that's left
are dirty footprints in the snow.
Left--left--I
Stumble, still one left
Away from making it right.
My swollen feet squash
From the weight of another---
I am quick, but
Alone.
My destination is
Void; and all that's left
are dirty footprints in the snow.
Three and a Half
Why are you so silent?
I lean toward your white, shrouded frame;
Your tears, they simply...
got lost inside your head, I suppose.
Your eyes, they are conscience.
Yes, but won't the world laugh along too?
No no you are tearing at your hair.
...And then he enters
What's going on guys, his voice is nonchalant
he stays by the door, where the other thoughts form unseen barriers.
LIES!!!
you leap from your perch on the windowsill
lunging at me and I,
I dodge you with ease; but you tore my black satin dress!
The sound of which resembles paper cutting flesh---silence.
You strike that other wall, the wall where the pictures behind the glass
suspend Certain moments in time,
AND you had to break that one, didn't you?
The one I liked best,
where, we all lurked in a corner
and I covered your mouth
to muffle the screaming.
He is nothing, he stands between us, Nothing.
We should be like him, I am morose.
But aren't we all nothing?
Figments of the imagination that shattered,
Iamyouareheis Layers!
of an onion, we can peel away (albeit, prematurely)
like scar tissue from a bleeding wound;
but the question stands, What
awaits in the centre?
Ignorance is indeed bliss.
Perhaps...perhaps it is less torturous
to remain Unknown.
I lean toward your white, shrouded frame;
Your tears, they simply...
got lost inside your head, I suppose.
Your eyes, they are conscience.
Yes, but won't the world laugh along too?
No no you are tearing at your hair.
...And then he enters
What's going on guys, his voice is nonchalant
he stays by the door, where the other thoughts form unseen barriers.
LIES!!!
you leap from your perch on the windowsill
lunging at me and I,
I dodge you with ease; but you tore my black satin dress!
The sound of which resembles paper cutting flesh---silence.
You strike that other wall, the wall where the pictures behind the glass
suspend Certain moments in time,
AND you had to break that one, didn't you?
The one I liked best,
where, we all lurked in a corner
and I covered your mouth
to muffle the screaming.
He is nothing, he stands between us, Nothing.
We should be like him, I am morose.
But aren't we all nothing?
Figments of the imagination that shattered,
Iamyouareheis Layers!
of an onion, we can peel away (albeit, prematurely)
like scar tissue from a bleeding wound;
but the question stands, What
awaits in the centre?
Ignorance is indeed bliss.
Perhaps...perhaps it is less torturous
to remain Unknown.
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