I want a blanket named crash
and a pillow named home.
Save tears for the foreword,
I'll return before long.
Sleep-sing me, Glasscatter,
the metal twists sweet.
The headlight's no Source.
Let oil, as blood, seep.
I turned, not for nothing,
little bird in the road.
We took flight, singing softly,
so glad that it showed.
if I died suddenly
through a car crash or
how would all my online friends here know??
Sometimes I think about what Creation sees
Like the beauty of children playing in mud streets
There snow fakes, never fall where they run and play
Playgrounds are unknown, and the roads are not paved
The wisdom, in the face of the elderly
Their eyes, where knowledge is carried gracefully
Each line tells all of their life's untold stories
Gray hairs are given as a crown of glory
Or when ocean waves crash down on shorelines
The majesty of them, given by design
And the power in them, as they come rolling in
Yet there is life that finds safety therein
How from little tiny seedlings, big trees are grown tall
And new life is given when they die and fall
But birds, make a home in them as they grow up strong
Raising a family as if they belong
Or a couple getting married, all the love in their eyes
The wedding ceremonies meaning that's implied
How before everyone there they make their life decree
To love each other throughout eternity
So very much more than these things have come to be
Even me, all these things, given the chance to see
You hold my heart in the palm of your hand
the harder you squeeze, the less that I feel like a man
you crash through, any roadblocks I build
you scratch away at the surface of all I concealed
I might smile the day that you see me
but I cry for the months that you leave me
I guess that Im never enough
when it comes to love.
None of it mattered
as it remains unanswered
flirting with disaster
has no happily ever after
No matter how true
the actions I made
nor the words that I spoke
can not seem to save
The useless attempts to repair
a heart thats beyond broke
Did we just become
The faces of another lost generation
Caught between the crumbling walls
Of an economy built from the top down
And a rising tsunami in the ever expanding
Sea of technology, of the now, the hip,
The “must haves” ignorant of the unsustainable
Broken nature of our very souls
We drift like paper boats
Doomed to be capsized by the very waters
That keep us buoyant, floating free
We are the information junkies
Plugged in and tuned out
Of the real, the tangible
Riding high on the fruits of a digital age
Like addicts the world around
We will crash, we have to
Because eventually there isn’t
A fix big enough to keep us up
And from there we have no place to go
No place to go but down
Plummeting straight to the hell
We built ourselves, stick by brick
Because through our inaction
Evil men, greed subsumed
Stripped our world, our land, our skies and seas
And what was left but hell on earth
So what now?
Do we take the plunge?
Sink our ships and rend our wings
Fall back to earth, wash up on shore
Open our eyes to see what’s left
What might be salvaged?
Or do we fly higher, reach further
And hope to heaven
We can fix our wings before they melt
Which is right? Which is illusion?
Which can save us in the end?
God, I wish I knew.
the type of girl who died in a car crash
because she never outgrew going out of her way to go through puddles
the girl who'd always heard she was pretty when she was angry
so she stayed enraged all the time
(there is enough to be angry about)
the girl who always walked like her feet were on fire and she is walking on a tightrope
she saw people she instinctively loved and crossed the street to deliver a compliment
The sound of this drizzling rain against the rooftops is enough to make me drift away...
Even with my eyes wide open I can feel myself sinking into a beautiful hypnosis.
I want to stay in this moment for as long as possible.
The infinite feeling of peace brings tears to the brim of my eyes.
As the drops run down the windshield, the outside world becomes a blur...
The way things are mirrored in water after throwing a rock in the center of the pool.
The obscured landscape is no less gorgeous with this imperfection.
The same as you....
For beauty is no less beautiful when skewed.
Just not as easy to recognize.
It may require you dig below the surface to see it.
But just under skin deep...it still lingers there.
These droplets keep calling my name.
Asking that I stand and let them fall over me delicately.
Feeling the cool sky crash down upon my lips..
Weighing down my hair and clothes...
this is the weight of the world.
Falling into the lake at which I am sitting....
The ripples...spreading out and dissipating,and I am the only witness.
Now the sky has become one with the earth it has fallen over,
and a part of the moisture held within my skin, a part of me...
Mid-May and the room has a blue cold, runny nose, condensation clasping the window like a quiet leech. Through the narrow chinks of my cavern, I can glimpse a computer surrounded by world in peripheral; fish eye vision like religious fervor, I realize life has made a lasting impression on whatever I am.
whatever I am.
Dream fades to life, life fades to dream, some alien language crash landed on Earth and now we all speak English (except, you know, the ten thousand other dialects all branched from the Indo-European earth worm). People like to say that everything changes. Nothing stays the same. Does the fact of change never change? Does that not make constants a possibility, even if only within the Many World Interpretation of Quantum Physics (capitalized! it's a name and 'Quantum Physics' likes playing the smiling subtitle ( :) ) ) now I wasn't in Copenhagen the day a jury of physicists decided on Reality; but I was in Reality (capital R) so I'm sure that counts for something.
They say they don't know who 'they' are; as if a brief allusion to a greater network somehow invalidates the point (but 'they' is the 'you' you decide to ignore; the 'you' composite of influences 'you' simply grew around; 'they' is the part of yourself 'you' keep tucked away comfortably like a newborn child that doesn't know any better).
i pray in time, friend,
that this you understand,
that it has to be my sweetest displeasure
and yet my most unjust liberty
to tell you that every quiet passing
along a young and hopeful causeway
was almost gladly spent finding,
some how or another . . .
every day new to discover you over and again,
so to drink in with haste the strange august nectar
and draw into my lungs the sovereign aura
that drift from your autumn eyes.
how to hold and to press gently your hands
just a moment more between mine in a way
that kisses with, in consummate balance,
a firm allowance and a free imperative.
how to mold, to sculpt, to shape
my habitual pining over your subtle forms
into an simple, ever green, professant blessing
a splendid, deep down, ours religion.
how to capture your innocent stargaze
in the longing embrace of my own
so that for one moment so perfectly brief
we were one great blossoming cosmos.
how to be one who aligns our beating royal suns
who calms our winters and ignites our summers
who dances and dies in the storms and the fires
that splash from your glimmering eyes.
how to be whom you adore until the requiem day
when our confessional breasts swell and crash in the cascading sand
to the sonorous beat of a final splendid rapturous breathtaking harmonious
as fury and ecstasy ripple and bound
in our lush fantastical burial ground.
as our progenies daydream of kingdoms to come
and sing with an amorous hymn on their tongues.
yes, and so it has been now for days and for tides
that my latent creations in whatever measures
those passions, when sparked and then quenched in an instant
are no more or less than my sweetest displeasures.
Life's a challenge,
It can be smooth as a stone,
or rough as the waves crashing onto the shore..,
you think you're breaking down like an earthquake,
but you're making yourself stronger, building up like a tower,
so that one day, a little crash of waves won't make you fall down,
you'll shine bright, abover the rest like a huge, shining skyscraper.