threading through memories of your past
weaving hopes and dreams on the loom of life
in and out
under the hanging overpass
over a creaking bridge
poised to collapse beneath me
constantly testing me
asking me the question embedded in my heart
take the route of avoidance
and back again
echo patterns of yesterday
trace back to the start
follow through a silver thread
I perfect my backwards walk
Across the avenue
As I make amends
Picking up pieces of broken glass
My collection of mistakes
Trying untangling knots
That can’t be untangled
Longing for the day
When string flows freely once again
The crystals disperse
Flakes of winter
Grey clouds of nowhere
Silver world awakes
To the silver sun beams
To the silver birds of song
Silver world awakes not to pleasure
Not to rhyme
Silver world awakes to sorrow
To the silver tear drop, crying
And with every tear the color fades
And more silver becomes the day
Spindling more silver
The silver devils play
And in my castle I hear the cry
The sharp shrieks of broken delight
The blinding light
The shivering fright
And in my castle I hear the wind
That humbles the calls
That corrodes my walls
The silver hissing wind
Driving nails into my coffin
The silver hissing wind
A dead heart will never soften
Meaningless are my dreams
Faded clockwork, clicks
The hour passes, the hand ticks
And I awake into my dreams
Decadent reality, bursting seams
The clock now stops and forever so
Till I return but I shall not go
I hear your pain
And feel it even louder,
I wish to shield you
But I know,
What you really need
Is a sword,
And the courage
What you fear,
That which steals
From your nights,
And stands over
You and the world,
Day to day,
Sunrise and sunsets
Unable to connect
To the world around you,
I will help you wield
The spear you need
To sink into and gut
Make light of all
Line all your clouds
And bring about
Your golden smile...
It's not just
Not just something you can
It becomes a lifestyle.
The lifestyle where
The grey eyes, deep purple souled rule
With shiny silver right beside.
And they'll do anything to get that rush,
Or violent palms.
Hunched over on tile floor
When no one is around to hear,
Smell of burning flesh and shrivled pride mix with
The sound of fresh and
Innocently sweet smiles outside.
But turn and
Look in a mirror.
The glass reflecting is just another tool,
It's all that's in our heads.
Tears under lamplight, so often called silver.
as if you think they're precious, or beautiful.
As if my pain makes me special, or radiant.
As if this is something rare, like it doesn't happen so often.
You think my tears make me unique, like no one else has ever been
Radiant in quicksilver, and no one else's shoulders have trembled
Under the burden of these sharp reflections of light
that adorn my face.
like the fluid sparkle of my eyes in this moment
is unprecedented and will not be repeated
thousands of millions of times over
so many people, so many faces.
So much glistening pain.
But this is not the first time
And it is far from the last
for me, or any of the others.
My tears are not silver, they are not precious.
They are not beautiful.
My blood has turned to water
and life has whipped me in the face
until I have overflowed and I bleed,
staining everything with the liquid pain
pouring out of the tracks cut through my trembling flesh.
You are so close to the truth
(If I heated silver, if I stuck it to my cheeks
if I watched the flesh burn and embraced the pain
everyone who cared to look would see and the marks
would not fade for a long time
But so far from it
(If I heated silver, if I melded it to my face
if I adorned myself in refractions of glory
I might be able to walk with pride.
Everyone could see me, resplendent
and I would embody strength
and not hatred of my own weakness.)
Beautiful sky of silver
Thinking of words that make you quiver
If I can't take, I can't be a giver
When did I become so bitter
Grey turned gold and gold turned grey
Maybe if everything would just stay...
Well maybe then I'd be the same
Now I'm almost too tame
Putting my old self to shame
Why can't I share myself with anyone else other than you
And when will I return to my form of truth
Washing sand from cuts on my
Wiping grains from the corners of my
A hundred stones, bouncing together
Tossed back and forth by rushing salt water,
I sit here in silence, waiting for the last
Off a cheap cigarette, pulled from cellophane,
Adorning your arms with a ball point
A human canvas, framed by smiling green
And the ocean crashes with tired
While we are still unaware that we even
Or that we will someday, maybe even today,
Sweet, sweet Suzy on the double picture screen,
she was such a beauty, best I'd ever seen.
She wore a skirt, dress shoes and a blouse,
hung around the front porch of her triple decker house.
I met her late one night beneath the willow tree,
we exchanged kisses and I knew she was meant for me.
Years gone by, although it seems like days,
I still love that women, her beauty never fades.