|
Jul 01
2007
|
writing again..Posted by without_rain in Untagged |
 |
i've been writing.
---
tears catch on the page
blank
but there is no need for words.
i watch these walls turn to quicksand
i hear the melody of the victory rose
and wonder where the angels sing
i feel the wind touching the grass
but never kissing, it is not alive
i think to myself,
'prophets reach epiphanies in states
like these'--
...
...
...
but i'm no prophet.
i must always scratch an itch
must always hold my breath
as words i never hear
scroll down my arms
like water on wax
'teach me the language of love,'
they say.
in silence
i release a dove from its cage.
------------
i want to go running in the rain.
i want to wash the day's sweat off, want to clean my spirit of all the stagnation, the self-induced sins.
then when i fall from running so hard, i want to scream at the trees, at the world, and demand to know what they want. demand to give me back what's it taken from me (though i don't know exactly what's gone.)
then i'll do what i always do:
lie in my bed with no blankets, staring outside to the moon or inside at my ceiling, listening to azure ray.
and think over everything again and again and again.
hoping that perhaps i'll be rewarded with a glimpse of the future;
or maybe a secret of the past to shed light on the present.
oh, tie me to the end of a kite.
---
tears catch on the page
blank
but there is no need for words.
i watch these walls turn to quicksand
i hear the melody of the victory rose
and wonder where the angels sing
i feel the wind touching the grass
but never kissing, it is not alive
i think to myself,
'prophets reach epiphanies in states
like these'--
...
...
...
but i'm no prophet.
i must always scratch an itch
must always hold my breath
as words i never hear
scroll down my arms
like water on wax
'teach me the language of love,'
they say.
in silence
i release a dove from its cage.
------------
i want to go running in the rain.
i want to wash the day's sweat off, want to clean my spirit of all the stagnation, the self-induced sins.
then when i fall from running so hard, i want to scream at the trees, at the world, and demand to know what they want. demand to give me back what's it taken from me (though i don't know exactly what's gone.)
then i'll do what i always do:
lie in my bed with no blankets, staring outside to the moon or inside at my ceiling, listening to azure ray.
and think over everything again and again and again.
hoping that perhaps i'll be rewarded with a glimpse of the future;
or maybe a secret of the past to shed light on the present.
oh, tie me to the end of a kite.
del.icio.us · digg this · spurl · reddit · furl this
Subscribe to this comment's feed