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Adam Mott Mar 2020
Like a blank canvas
Strewn about the sky
A theory of longshots
Forever crossing the sea

Sailing to the forefront
Of mind and maritime
Need to put the pieces together
Still just treading endlessly

Pictures of places and people
Long since experienced
Words hanging still in the dead of memory
Vibrant and alive yet somehow dull and faded

Last night I lay under those stars
Today I walk the city streets
Past blank faces in dingy bars
Last night I swam in the ocean
Today I dream of how it felt

These things in memory, effervescent
Existing just long enough to leave an impression
Before fizzling away
Adam Mott Mar 2017
Sifting through strands of broken time
Segregating parts of the human mind
Underwater where the silence is immense
Inside the sun where the heat is intense
All experiences which come and go
Deteriorate to even the flow
Before all we know
Dissolves like snow
Adam Mott Mar 2017
On occasion, a dream will show
Eyes of someone I am yet to know
In these moments, I feel alive
Justifying the existence of an internal drive
Outside of these flashpoints
A monochrome life
Coated in nothingness
Frigid cold, emotional strife
Yet, I carry on
If only to dream of those eyes
Once again
Adam Mott Feb 2017
Art can touch
That which I do not allow
Anyone to see
Moving images
Give weight and value
To a life
Lived isolatedly
Adam Mott Feb 2017
World of worlds, under great impression
Which word of choice would lend the greatest voice?
Could life give such a gift
Or, perhaps, merely bestow further myth?
Under everything that has and will come
In silence of our hearts
Will time mend all such parts
Or simply induce the next to enter
Unto a valley of evolving platitudes
Adam Mott Feb 2017
Frustrated by the weight inherent with trust
Too many words written in stone turning to rust
Nonsensical as it may seem

Everything fails eventually
Heart, host, body and mind
Time and reality,
Rather unkind

Mimic those that do it best
Failing to succeed
Puffing out your chest
Laugh and smile in the mirror you bought

Unkindled by the spirit of rot
Everything is everything
Until it's not
Adam Mott Jan 2017
Hello, my little memories
Sounds and sights
Wrong and right
All I think about, most the time

I dream of places no soul could find
With brighter stars in otherwise empty skies
A place I belong
Where all feels right

Perhaps in a century or two
Word will reach some of you
Of such a place as I described
Where the young go

To feel alive
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