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Devin Weaver Aug 2016
Awoke to a sad same day
And before I went back to bed
I crumpled every ******* dream
And threw them all away

Fools are those who imagine
It’s somehow righteous to be different
And amid the masses they’ll be seen
But no one knows you, little man
The news is not covering your dreams

I think someone really wants me
To be the same as all the rest
Behind their smiles I see a lie
And though I’ve scoured the bay for truth
Cities make, of my reflection, jest

Dreams are this illusion of vastness
Like matter, what seems dense is hollow
What I want, to you, is small
Every selfish field must grow fallow
What’s fateful matters not at all

So it turns out I was right
And happiness must be
An empty bottle
A towel to throw in every fight
Found this in an old folder, written 9 years ago. Thought I'd share, as it spoke to me.
Devin Weaver Aug 2016
The dream is one of life’s great ironies
A word overfilled with the vaguest hopes
A word impalpable, of fantasies
And yet, the tangible within its scope
When nightmares leave us restless and afraid
Mother soothes her child with “it’s just a dream”
But when bold men dreamt of what they then made
Matrons held those thoughts with profound esteem
Each is urged to trace whimsy’s beaconed path
For boys and girls can be all they desire
Heed not reality, nor aftermath
Set reverie, each night, newly afire

I found this same paradox to apply
When I dreamt of you, my deluging love
Saw heaven in the depths of your brown eyes
But sleep’s hellish guile pained my heart thereof
You smiled at me and walked amid soft light
Under a glowing willow tree, we met
For hours, as friends who were once lovers might
We merged with warm embrace our silhouettes
I cried for joy to hold what seemed so real
Lost in you, I forgot of earthly time
And to have foregone breath might bear appeal
For, in that false world, you were truly mine

This sweet conceit is such a cruel scheme
For, when I wake, it’s always just a dream
Devin Weaver Jul 2016
Sometimes, the sad stuff nestles
And offers a familiar strangle hold
But you offer me a stranger’s hold
And like a snow globe unsettled
The sad stuff scatters
Blood vessels open wide and wild and bold
And we go deeply upside down

All the particulates of our particulars
Dance around in carnal discussions
Of morality and philosophy and borders
Spoken in petite four letter words
Devin Weaver Sep 2013
I held my head today
With compassionate hands that pulled forth tears
I held my aching head
Filled with thoughts and images I’ve kept
In distant recesses
Breaking free, boiling up to forefronts
With rage and sorrow
Like bodies long forgotten out to sea
Washing ashore to shock new eyes
With bloated horror

Thank you, distant ****** ancestors
For compassionate hands
Devin Weaver Aug 2013
Your stare is a diamond-cutter
Your hair smells better than
Hair that smells good.
Namely, I like you better than
People with hair that smells good.

And I wonder at your personhood
For you are made of *** and *****
Your mouth is filled with gold and snakes
And trickles rapturous winding rivers
of *** and venom.

Your sharp teeth have purpose
And your softness only seems
To heighten their resolve.
When you open up to me
I better than dissolve.
I become aware for the first time
in a week.
Devin Weaver Jun 2013
Take me everywhere, beautiful
There's too much
I have not been
Devin Weaver May 2013
Be wild
Be free
So to leave the hollowed masses blushing
With reminders of forgotten roots

Tear clothing from imprisoned flesh
And let light nestle back
Into ruins abandoned not through time
But for ugly Godful shame

Savagely unhinge choking steel doors
And let loose a fiery green
Send forth flames of growth
And sparking soul
Leaping high into the night
Taunting the darkness
Beyond the reach of Jove

Light pagan candles
And chant ritualistic
Prayers of Yes
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