Nov 2011
we’re in different worlds, You and i,
but still i reached out and spoke
words that would
carry themselves
across the driest of deserts;
words that would
light
the darkest of midnight jungles,
for you,
i have reached out and spoke
into Your deafened ears,
all the while You sit at the picnic bench watching automobiles
speed by.
You mumble for a moment,
And pretend to be assuring.
we’re in different worlds, You and i,
with different ideas despite
these familiar glances in silence
deafened
by elementary school bells.
i suppose we were aware,
at least
full of apprehension.
but all the hollow words you sang
sprung forth
like ectoplasm,
most haunting,
leaving me with something i’d never shake.
we’re in different worlds, You and i,
i’ve yet to see him with heart in hand,
but as i watch You saunter there,
from my sunset,
i see him.
he in his veil and cape, and
i can’t help but wonder,
“would it have been worthwhile”
to strip the ground of the foundation we poured,
built upon transparent, adamant stone and
raised
on the blocks
of the Poets of Old.
“would it have been worth it, after all”
we’re in different worlds, You and i,
after the plans and promises of night,
the discussions of Cummings
over midnight wine,
and the times we smoked the pipe together.
“would it have been worth it, after all”
With all the senseless pain of the world
dancing within the corridors of the flooded mind,
running… no,
gushing
like the torrential
mud in a flooded mine.
and all the rumination of nuances that leave me wondering if i speak too truthfully.
we’re in different worlds, You and i,
with miles and miles of endless wonder
between us
that ***** the air from the room
dry,
and finally,
finally, all the truth,
or whatever it’s called,
all the hope,
and all the rest of life
is ****** from the environment as You leave
before standing.
we’re in different worlds, you and I,
and so I’ll say I always knew.
but still i reached out and spoke
words that would
carry themselves
across the driest of deserts;
words that would
light
the darkest of midnight jungles,
for you,
i have reached out and spoke
into Your deafened ears,
all the while You sit at the picnic bench watching automobiles
speed by.
You mumble for a moment,
And pretend to be assuring.
we’re in different worlds, You and i,
with different ideas despite
these familiar glances in silence
deafened
by elementary school bells.
i suppose we were aware,
at least
full of apprehension.
but all the hollow words you sang
sprung forth
like ectoplasm,
most haunting,
leaving me with something i’d never shake.
we’re in different worlds, You and i,
i’ve yet to see him with heart in hand,
but as i watch You saunter there,
from my sunset,
i see him.
he in his veil and cape, and
i can’t help but wonder,
“would it have been worthwhile”
to strip the ground of the foundation we poured,
built upon transparent, adamant stone and
raised
on the blocks
of the Poets of Old.
“would it have been worth it, after all”
we’re in different worlds, You and i,
after the plans and promises of night,
the discussions of Cummings
over midnight wine,
and the times we smoked the pipe together.
“would it have been worth it, after all”
With all the senseless pain of the world
dancing within the corridors of the flooded mind,
running… no,
gushing
like the torrential
mud in a flooded mine.
and all the rumination of nuances that leave me wondering if i speak too truthfully.
we’re in different worlds, You and i,
with miles and miles of endless wonder
between us
that ***** the air from the room
dry,
and finally,
finally, all the truth,
or whatever it’s called,
all the hope,
and all the rest of life
is ****** from the environment as You leave
before standing.
we’re in different worlds, you and I,
and so I’ll say I always knew.
