1603

The going from a world we know
  To one a wonder still
Is like the child’s adversity
  Whose vista is a hill,
Behind the hill is sorcery
  And everything unknown,
But will the secret compensate
  For climbing it alone?

Sipping cold ale blend staring at the screen waiting for the end
End of the words end of the lines
End of this paper crime
Its morning the cold chill of scented rain
Two ales down
Finger tapping tipping the iambic rhythm
Wishing it could be over
The words go on filling the blank spaces.

I read untill my eye hurt. Shudder and blurr lines
But I can not stop
Moving picture only capture my attention but for a moment
Their voices scream and titilate my ear
But words become more than they could ever hope to be
And I wonder if I see more in them than in the spoken
You could write me and I would understand better
Pick out your subtext and feel your heart
Wringout your feelings and motive
Maybe its the detachment the third person God
Overseeing the world but not apart
Reading helps to escape
That relaxing kind of lost.

If beautiful words are all you want to hear then taste the ash of my breath for only truth is burning here.

Touch my voice and know the depth of my heart for nothing but sincerity falls from my lips. Like rain it will cleanse the palate.

See the honesty within my words and know sanctity is ringing its trembling song without falsity I become humble. Truth taking hold the blooming flower you behold.

Look to her and know not truth for painted lips breed painted lies. She is not with honesty but slick with pride.

Be drunk on her an intoxication heed my warning and justification. She will lead you on and take your breath that painted temptrest is poisonous at best.

You never quite feel it
Till just before the show
Right at the grand creshedo
The "thats all folks"
But when it does come
It waves and ebbs
Rolling and rising
How the memories consume
Abeit and roll again
Shifting while I stand
Falling back in time
Till I'm that little girl again
Waiting by the garden for you
Not 22 and placing the last rose you will ever see in bloom

emotions are purgatory
to purge them
is peace