It kills to be so close, and yet so far.
She lives inside my mind invisible, and twinkles like a half-seen star.
Only words shall transfer forth, and it’s a misery of sorts.
No face shall I see, no flower found to bloom.
Only a corpse of memory sealed inside a silent tomb.
Where one is blunt the other is bashful.
Where one is close the other is far off,
watching like a seagull.
I watch her like a dream sealed inside a glass case,
I’m not the kind to break things...
Speak to me about the way the wind hits you.
How the air of your mind is stirred.
Give me a taste of your soul music.
That I may fly aloft like a bird.
A rustle, a whistle, through the boughs and brooks
of your words fall pitter-patter
on my attentive eyes and ears.
A dream of heaven; an after-life.
A wish for peace, and a cease of strife.
Yet I shall share a vision of what has always been.
A connection to the infinite.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
It kills to be so close, and yet so far.
She lives inside my mind invisible, and twinkles like a half-seen star.
Only words shall transfer forth, and it’s a misery of sorts.
No face shall I see, no flower found to bloom.
Only a corpse of memory sealed inside a silent tomb.
Where one is blunt the other is bashful.
Where one is close the other is far off,
watching like a seagull.
I watch her like a dream sealed inside a glass case,
I’m not the kind to break things...
Speak to me about the way the wind hits you.
How the air of your mind is stirred.
Give me a taste of your soul music.
That I may fly aloft like a bird.
A rustle, a whistle, through the boughs and brooks
of your words fall pitter-patter
on my attentive eyes and ears.
A dream of heaven; an after-life.
A wish for peace, and a cease of strife.
Yet I shall share a vision of what has always been.
A connection to the infinite.
