Mar 2016
Altar breath,
A single moment of silence.
Expectations turned to dust,
Sorry, mistrust.
“There I go again,
Writing something and making the words sound pretty.”
“What meaning does it have?
Shouldn’t there a point to all of this…wor..worditry?”
It’s like petty mistakes get mirrored with unpaid milestones.
“Get it? It’s like writing you think is really good but it’s just like, fabricated 12th grade flower poetry. The petty mistake is trying to sound like you have pain, when all you really have is 24 things that don’t really help get the meaning across any better.”
Time takes precious seconds to make us feel sad, depressed, and lonely.
But time is infinite, and sadness is beauty.
Sadness is mad.
Sadness is the pressure of a life untold that wants to be written.
Altar breath.
These were hers but she never showed.
Little knots of happiness on ropes hung everywhere she went.
She was never the type to forget.
And neither was the page.
“It’s a rhythmic message of people always having to climb in life but always getting to hold on to those knots to support their climb to the top. They never have to be held onto long. Just long enough that you know you used that rung to get higher. The “She” is our brain, letting us always have an imprint. A memory.”
A letter or two to define the dance they did that November 4th. Pleasurable souls, they were.
Each on display, for their whimsical meter. Always a waltz, never quite on the same key.
Always enough common wavelengths to get to one another.
“It’s a musical pun, labeling modulation terms to get to the point that we complement each other. And since we don’t have souls or things like that, our brains give off something amazing that attracts you to me and me to you.”
What she must have felt,
Walking down an empty aisle.
The pews fresh dusted,
A trail of something a lot less…
Deserving.
Rose petals plucked from nature’s grace.
To be on display.
“He never got the chance to say hello to me. I know I’ll walk down here again and feel the same way again. I feel like poetry doesn’t solve my issues. I feel like I need you again. I wonder, if you’re ever looking up at me. Or down on me.
I guess I’m sorry you never got to hear this.”
It rained last night.
Oh boy did it rain.
As tangled prose and tangled meter intertwined, the message became what it formed to say for a time until no words could be spoken.
“I know this the day you passed away, and I also know this is the day I see you for the last time. I live with you in two ways. You’re either here forever, or gone for good. I saw you as you walked towards me that beautiful day. And I won’t forget what you said.”
I. Do.
“I re-wrote our vows. They’re in the quotes! Hopefully you get this!”
I wrote this as an idea to make myself understand that what I am, are these words.
Passion will always hold a part in my heart.
A single moment of silence.
Expectations turned to dust,
Sorry, mistrust.
“There I go again,
Writing something and making the words sound pretty.”
“What meaning does it have?
Shouldn’t there a point to all of this…wor..worditry?”
It’s like petty mistakes get mirrored with unpaid milestones.
“Get it? It’s like writing you think is really good but it’s just like, fabricated 12th grade flower poetry. The petty mistake is trying to sound like you have pain, when all you really have is 24 things that don’t really help get the meaning across any better.”
Time takes precious seconds to make us feel sad, depressed, and lonely.
But time is infinite, and sadness is beauty.
Sadness is mad.
Sadness is the pressure of a life untold that wants to be written.
Altar breath.
These were hers but she never showed.
Little knots of happiness on ropes hung everywhere she went.
She was never the type to forget.
And neither was the page.
“It’s a rhythmic message of people always having to climb in life but always getting to hold on to those knots to support their climb to the top. They never have to be held onto long. Just long enough that you know you used that rung to get higher. The “She” is our brain, letting us always have an imprint. A memory.”
A letter or two to define the dance they did that November 4th. Pleasurable souls, they were.
Each on display, for their whimsical meter. Always a waltz, never quite on the same key.
Always enough common wavelengths to get to one another.
“It’s a musical pun, labeling modulation terms to get to the point that we complement each other. And since we don’t have souls or things like that, our brains give off something amazing that attracts you to me and me to you.”
What she must have felt,
Walking down an empty aisle.
The pews fresh dusted,
A trail of something a lot less…
Deserving.
Rose petals plucked from nature’s grace.
To be on display.
“He never got the chance to say hello to me. I know I’ll walk down here again and feel the same way again. I feel like poetry doesn’t solve my issues. I feel like I need you again. I wonder, if you’re ever looking up at me. Or down on me.
I guess I’m sorry you never got to hear this.”
It rained last night.
Oh boy did it rain.
As tangled prose and tangled meter intertwined, the message became what it formed to say for a time until no words could be spoken.
“I know this the day you passed away, and I also know this is the day I see you for the last time. I live with you in two ways. You’re either here forever, or gone for good. I saw you as you walked towards me that beautiful day. And I won’t forget what you said.”
I. Do.
“I re-wrote our vows. They’re in the quotes! Hopefully you get this!”
I wrote this as an idea to make myself understand that what I am, are these words.
Passion will always hold a part in my heart.
