let’s split the seconds in two
break apart the bark of dead trees
and sail away like summer
like echoes
echoes
we’re back here again, no winebottles to hold us
the waves break on our skin
whispering about echoes of
the wind drops like grenade pins
paid for by palestinians
profits into our superpowers pocket
we’re echoes of endless
take one of those moments in a second
crush it up and breathe it in
just how rolled up notes showed you
hold this moment longer than you’re meant to
steal time from the gods
cos i want to look into your eyes one last time til tomorrow
i am a series of echoes of endless meaningless patterns
like pythagoras put a purpose on me
like a madman i’ll scream to anything that’ll hear me
the whole room sways to the beat of your breathes
the knowledge you cradle like life inside will never leave
it’ll warm you in moments of distress
you’ll feed it in moments of perfectness
sometimes the symbols aren’t right,
but you blurred the borders between me and love
letters and poems
dreams and stories
our thought patterns in sync like mushroom trips
i love you.
-
words
are infinite
like
the journey to here
the random chemical concotions
or just
preselected stories.
and pi to seven decimal places sounded with syllables sparks superstitious symbols
electrical impulses brief bits of data
it’s all down to disbelief in coincidence.
believing in confidence
patterns need a purpose
lose yourself in them
easier to avoid the pain that your brain knows to be true
that you’re part to blame
for the begging bin bags
the bombs and the poverty
the lifestyle of monotony
so i’ll keep saying it til i work out how to say it properly...
0.000001/=0
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
You’re the dreamer.
The poet and the pauper.
A scratch just waiting to be itched, an unlit matchstick and a patch half stiched.
You are the computer’s late night glow,
the ink that flows,
from ideas in code.
You are community owned.
You are the keyboard taps and headphone beats.
Evolution for free.
Fighting for the peaceful dream.
You are the words of change and the winds of rage.
The shadows that skulk in the street.
You are the heaven that heckles hell, the bellowing of the brittle bell.
But they can’t break your bones cause they’re the echoing of our souls.
You are the half finished manuscript, the crescendo before the storm.
You see through their lies and live out our lives.
You are the positive patterns of our neurons.
You are the death cry of white dwarves.
The picture of perfection made pure by repeat,
the flowers that bleed through the cracks in concrete.
You are the hopeful birdsong at morning’s first light,
the cradle of the night,
and freedom’s plight.
You are the mirror we all look into when we’re lost
and the cycles we’re chained to when we’re not.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC