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may-1Poems
In my desperation for a story that I could tell I found myself divided into three the girl out of time the girl who never slept the girl made of symbols one is for the past when I could see what others could not and others could not see me I saw light shadows earth and air and found my place among them but assumption and apathy ignorance and monotony lured me into false independance and I simply disappeared faded to a wisp of self faded to transparency one is for the present when time and dread and overthought drove me to restless places I stole my being from moments of calm and tore it limb from limb by day I fell ill with stillness of mind through self-inflicted turmoil and disorder I found my comfort in the lull of night I was accustomed to dawn and the correspondence of birds insomnia thrived before softly lit grace one is for the future when I've found patience and comprehension long lost in angst and exhaustion presence and mind in translation I will live by the stories under my skin I will become ink, I will become words I will become the doctrine by which I am governed I will belong to ideas I will become a story I will be forever speaking however silent
0
Apr 26, 2012
Apr 26, 2012 at 7:07 AM UTC
where I belong, there was a world once
In my desperation for a story that I could tell I found myself divided into three the girl out of time the girl who never slept the girl made of symbols one is for the past when I could see what others could not and others could not see me I saw light shadows earth and air and found my place among them but assumption and apathy ignorance and monotony lured me into false independance and I simply disappeared faded to a wisp of self faded to transparency one is for the present when time and dread and overthought drove me to restless places I stole my being from moments of calm and tore it limb from limb by day I fell ill with stillness of mind through self-inflicted turmoil and disorder I found my comfort in the lull of night I was accustomed to dawn and the correspondence of birds insomnia thrived before softly lit grace one is for the future when I've found patience and comprehension long lost in angst and exhaustion presence and mind in translation I will live by the stories under my skin I will become ink, I will become words I will become the doctrine by which I am governed I will belong to ideas I will become a story I will be forever speaking however silent
may-1
Written by
may-1
Apr 26, 2012
Apr 26, 2012 at 7:07 AM UTC
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