I've been thinking probably way too much
as is the rhythm of my mind
about rocks, pebbles, sand and such
and where my loyalties lie
what boon work this world of faceless cogs
demands of my willow tree
is warping what sense of beauty there was
and fulfilment in creating these
colours that flutter like the turbulent mixture
of life blood my pen's so obsessed with
and maybe it's due to the beat that those hues
drum through my every fibre and limb
because when you make me force me to create
these armfuls and mouthfuls of sand
the vibrant inferno it splutters and chokes
and cries to me, how can you stand?
How do you sit like the sandman in his suit
whose mind is long barren of rocks
or those women you hate while their gravel gossip grates
with sheer nothingness, their words will be lost
how do you breathe when the mark you should leave
on this earth lies somewhere buried beneath
that avalanche of assignments, oh fool don't deny them
they smothered your love of the free
somehow you bear the pain, no buzz in your veins
do you remember them glowing so bright?
like the twisted surge and flow of headlights on dark roads
you could've bled a skyline,
you know it is not lost that time...
when water is empty, it watches in glass pillars
you only thirst for those hues
and your only hunger is to feel no longer
the weight of ideas decaying unused
when every cell and molecule rippling within you
is finally full from the fruits
of heaving a sigh when that creature comes to life
only a hint of the vision inside you
until then, dear inferno, I sigh, you do not know
the agony of building these damns
of papers and alarm clocks and quotidian gutter droplets
the ebb of the life of the Man
but this searing pain is not all to no gain
for these empty books will rot away
and the platform they chose for me, bricks laid in rows for me
I will step off as light as the day
when the sun rises orange, so deep I can taste it
melting over the sand
that I sleep on and stand on and build archways of light upon
no longer fills the hollows of my hands
then inferno dear inferno, how luminous we will glow
we will be everything we are
we are not sand and pebbles, gravel and stones
we are rocks like the jagged earth's scar
but for now I must tolerate those grains as they bite and grate
and nibble what makes me who I am
and hope that these hands and their rainforest of plans
will not be eroded by this sea of sand
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
I've been thinking probably way too much
as is the rhythm of my mind
about rocks, pebbles, sand and such
and where my loyalties lie
what boon work this world of faceless cogs
demands of my willow tree
is warping what sense of beauty there was
and fulfilment in creating these
colours that flutter like the turbulent mixture
of life blood my pen's so obsessed with
and maybe it's due to the beat that those hues
drum through my every fibre and limb
because when you make me force me to create
these armfuls and mouthfuls of sand
the vibrant inferno it splutters and chokes
and cries to me, how can you stand?
How do you sit like the sandman in his suit
whose mind is long barren of rocks
or those women you hate while their gravel gossip grates
with sheer nothingness, their words will be lost
how do you breathe when the mark you should leave
on this earth lies somewhere buried beneath
that avalanche of assignments, oh fool don't deny them
they smothered your love of the free
somehow you bear the pain, no buzz in your veins
do you remember them glowing so bright?
like the twisted surge and flow of headlights on dark roads
you could've bled a skyline,
you know it is not lost that time...
when water is empty, it watches in glass pillars
you only thirst for those hues
and your only hunger is to feel no longer
the weight of ideas decaying unused
when every cell and molecule rippling within you
is finally full from the fruits
of heaving a sigh when that creature comes to life
only a hint of the vision inside you
until then, dear inferno, I sigh, you do not know
the agony of building these damns
of papers and alarm clocks and quotidian gutter droplets
the ebb of the life of the Man
but this searing pain is not all to no gain
for these empty books will rot away
and the platform they chose for me, bricks laid in rows for me
I will step off as light as the day
when the sun rises orange, so deep I can taste it
melting over the sand
that I sleep on and stand on and build archways of light upon
no longer fills the hollows of my hands
then inferno dear inferno, how luminous we will glow
we will be everything we are
we are not sand and pebbles, gravel and stones
we are rocks like the jagged earth's scar
but for now I must tolerate those grains as they bite and grate
and nibble what makes me who I am
and hope that these hands and their rainforest of plans
will not be eroded by this sea of sand
this poem was inspired by something i heard... apparently life is a bowl and inside there are rocks: what and who truly defines you and matters to you, then pebbles: acquaintances and hobbies you're just experimenting with, and then sand: the quotidian worries and crap that means nothing but we all trudge through. These pebbles and sand are meant to trickle between the rocks, even support them but not cover them cos then our priorities are messed up. This made me really angry because sometimes this choice is taken out of your hands and you feel constantly forced to focus on the sand just to get anywhere in life and you wake up one morning empty of any creativity and go mad and write a poem. Irish education system... fun times...
