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Keith Stillman Feb 2015
All those familiar chords

All those worn out words

He cries because of his dreams

He fears that they might come true

he’s stranded on a glass sea

chasing reflections of you.
Keith Stillman Feb 2015
Oh spare me the body

Or spare me the soul!

I don’t want to hear it,

I don’t want to know!

Give me an excuse

to leave off your wailing!

Oh please don’t show it!

Think you this a confession?

Think I a priest?

Think you this a romance?

A story, a plea?

I want to ****, don’t give that **** to me!

Feelings, compulsions, we rave for the notions

that our souls are convulsions

of soaring emotions on wings

drifting through the air, such pretty things!

My God! We are bodies with needs and pleasures,

Abandon your ‘otherwordly tethers’

and ****!
This is slightly satirical. It doesn't come off well.
Keith Stillman Dec 2014
Terrifying, That
Though I know my
I know Not
Keith Stillman Nov 2014
An eventual demise is at my doorstep,
And I wait for it, sitting still and scratching occasionally, staring at the
Gateway. House of my fears.
What could possibly lie beyond that horizon, I shudder to wonder,
I dare not cross
I dare not think
I breathe,
Just breathe
And then there is quiet and stillness in the room
Which houses my sanity,
Which carries me from place to place,
That room which is my mind.
And I redress it as a factory.
And whatever I think is reality there,
So **** the door
I do not cross it
And then a third day passes,
I stare at the threshold.
What lies beyond,
I shudder.
Keep to my thoughts,
Dare not cross
My kingdom has no limits in this room
There are shadows against the wall of a man,
He is hunched, eating himself
He blinks and it is visible,
His nails are long and they scrape the walls as he searches
He looks with his eyes,
But he is blind,
And he hunts me,
I do not fear him
For I know,
On the fifth day
I will embrace the door
And then on the fourth day I contain myself to my thoughts
And bravely I stand
Sinking movement
I try to extend a leg
My stomach turns
I look to the shadows
A mirror which tells twisted tale
If one were to live his life with shadows as mirrors,
He would surely be twisted
I step
Fifth day
The nails scraping,
Shadows engulfing
The door before me,
Dare I leave wonderland?
I despise the thought and pain is my shifting,
but the room disappears suddenly,
As the shadows fling out and grasp the air
Escape, and now I look
Across the room
The rectangle
I have braved one terror in flight from another and have passed
Ultimately into a third
But a sliver of light guides me,
Perhaps further will be less difficult,
Scratching on the walls,
My legs ache from the standing.
I don’t want to leave
I decided
I don’t want to leave
But desire drives me,
And I am human just as those beyond the door,
I must join them in their game,
It is fate.
I begin to cross,
As there is nowhere to sit.
Keith Stillman Nov 2014
Time is an experience

A perspective;

A choice.

Time is a vehicle

A legacy;

A voice.

Time brings us forward,

but let’s us look back

Time is the essence,

of comings and pasts

Time is a span,

to measure a flash

Time is the end,

My enemy,

My friend,

Time is the show,

The melody,

The flow.
Keith Stillman Oct 2014
Out beyond the bush,
Spied through leaves of green,
The brush runs through her hair,
Stroking away memories,
As she meets the sun,
Skin like shining pearl
Drunk of mercury
But sitting still
Though her eyes are blank,
And her mind is lost,
Beauty there remains,
Like a bitter song,
And I back away,
Heart a spinning gong,
Thinking to myself,
What her love has done
Are we so obsessed?
Incapable of moving on…
Is it worth the pain?
Regret, a tasteless name.
Keith Stillman Oct 2014
There we are debating with words so relating to things so frustrating the we will be creating and lo they are seeing the records and bleeding their blackness into those pages and folds, there the sun doesn't shine and it minds to be time to have lines and not blots of the red which turns black as we're dead in the morning.
God, as we crumble so humble and tumble over deals and ides together as one, ones which don't matter and then on the splatter of brains against the wall, we miss our chance and fail at romance only to have taken a worthless dance on the edge of a blackness we don't understand because we were busy heavy handing our meager understanding and kissing ourselves for the baseless pandering and message that was never there.
So There, as we sit and we type our language.
There we think we have done something good,
Yet There, we are trapped in our ageless ignorance.
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