thinking of how,
many lips must I taste upon to be called into the league of men -
how many times must I rush into love
to be felt for in the heart of many
who called the words of a wife upon their lives
how will this screen showing what does call
upon my meager stages of respect faltered on the palette of success
a war making wounds on heart of souls
souls dusting, upon how -
we talk without meter and rhyme.
the weak stupor of a young man in love with women-
year by this year, the morose souls will face death
and in some will this soul rest, as it is named after the deadwood.
Monday, December 20, 2010
ah, who would walk down the green parches
as silent as the wind stalk right behind you hair and tells your every step
to the walls of infamy painted on the human cross
as the sky melts in the distorted dreary of the early morning into
everything that lives in your vision
Its a silent walk to the pool
no roses
no silver plates
no monies
no fancy clothes to compare with your canvas
day breaking into pieces of bread,
the ears awaken on the wind,
to hear the broth of your voice begin.
as silent as the wind stalk right behind you hair and tells your every step
to the walls of infamy painted on the human cross
as the sky melts in the distorted dreary of the early morning into
everything that lives in your vision
Its a silent walk to the pool
no roses
no silver plates
no monies
no fancy clothes to compare with your canvas
day breaking into pieces of bread,
the ears awaken on the wind,
to hear the broth of your voice begin.
Silence is not my fort
Images behind images, this world is made in different films,
Shades of transparency, translucent and opaque -
there are sometimes, when I have no matter as the molecules of my mind shatter -
what is there to look for and wonder,
what is there that takes a hope for some slumber in the times
life shows the gliding glitter on the living remains of your brain
the functionality - is gone and now what remains is bits of little memories
that can take us now, nowhere, for the places have already been visited
the stars have already been broken and hoped upon
the feelings already taken, the pictures already seen, the storm already brazen
when the body lays at its feet -
silent into a long sleep knowing not when to become -
the sand grain flowing against time of itself
knowing not what floats in your black eyes
knowing not what dirt has made home in your blood raised its home
knowing somewhat how your itch has been tearing up its feel once in every minute to make you hand go back to the scratch to where it had all started
life is a mystery, please don't try to own it. all I ask is when will you show up to live?
Shades of transparency, translucent and opaque -
there are sometimes, when I have no matter as the molecules of my mind shatter -
what is there to look for and wonder,
what is there that takes a hope for some slumber in the times
life shows the gliding glitter on the living remains of your brain
the functionality - is gone and now what remains is bits of little memories
that can take us now, nowhere, for the places have already been visited
the stars have already been broken and hoped upon
the feelings already taken, the pictures already seen, the storm already brazen
when the body lays at its feet -
silent into a long sleep knowing not when to become -
the sand grain flowing against time of itself
knowing not what floats in your black eyes
knowing not what dirt has made home in your blood raised its home
knowing somewhat how your itch has been tearing up its feel once in every minute to make you hand go back to the scratch to where it had all started
life is a mystery, please don't try to own it. all I ask is when will you show up to live?
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