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miguel-pontonPoems
We'll spend our days in writing... Throw away the warm nights. We'll wander the earth wondering, If we're ever meant to be alive. Will I call out to heaven... Crying, tears as knives to those below, "Did you not hear me the first time? No charming third or second hopes... Was I meant to live and cringe at The image of true love..." Imagine if there's no magic To connect these weary minds. Imagine if it's a bit more tragic, Like spilling guts on cold floors. My name was known once as dreamer... Now it's a chuckle-short of dull. My name was known to have meaning To someone whose eyes are so full. And if I could call out to heaven... Crying out, as loud as the thunder: "If You won't help me, I'll help myself... Please tell me, Where can I find You now?" Regret, my shiny vision... Glistening like a midday sun, Undo the man you see before you And make him wish he was alone. Regret, this deep incision... You slice right past my bone. Now limp, I still search for That heaven, That hides between every crack. And as I call out to heaven... With my hands frail, My vision blurred: "You are not what they say You are... You're always that thing I can never know. Your thoughts always evade me, Yet as I see You, I call you 'Lord'." If I could just build a kite... So You could strike me with Your word. Electrify this one night... Show me what all this pain was for.
0
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 10:34 PM UTC
Burnt Crucible
We'll spend our days in writing... Throw away the warm nights. We'll wander the earth wondering, If we're ever meant to be alive. Will I call out to heaven... Crying, tears as knives to those below, "Did you not hear me the first time? No charming third or second hopes... Was I meant to live and cringe at The image of true love..." Imagine if there's no magic To connect these weary minds. Imagine if it's a bit more tragic, Like spilling guts on cold floors. My name was known once as dreamer... Now it's a chuckle-short of dull. My name was known to have meaning To someone whose eyes are so full. And if I could call out to heaven... Crying out, as loud as the thunder: "If You won't help me, I'll help myself... Please tell me, Where can I find You now?" Regret, my shiny vision... Glistening like a midday sun, Undo the man you see before you And make him wish he was alone. Regret, this deep incision... You slice right past my bone. Now limp, I still search for That heaven, That hides between every crack. And as I call out to heaven... With my hands frail, My vision blurred: "You are not what they say You are... You're always that thing I can never know. Your thoughts always evade me, Yet as I see You, I call you 'Lord'." If I could just build a kite... So You could strike me with Your word. Electrify this one night... Show me what all this pain was for.
Written by
miguel-ponton
American
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 10:34 PM UTC
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