lights in the sky fighting,
somewhere somebody's trying
to put out the fire
with bare hands and dying
breaths, in ways no one could
ever understand before
there's more to a painting
when you know how it ends
every stroke made in haste
and for no one else
where the world is made and
broken down for someone else
there must be more than life
if we could see into the distance
more than just colours trying
to ****** the mountains
the rivers that run and hide
from the preying atlas
deep into the forests helm
where the naked hide
rains that fill the oceans
before it's time
swallowing the sunsets deep
into its hallowed grave
where gouls fall in love with
wandering mermaids
how beautiful you must be
to reject the gods?
the very essence of what
it takes to beat a heart
is captured now in still water
and cascading waves
perhaps one day we could
swim carefree
into the same approaching
melancholy that has made a home
inside the swirling storms
the very winds that travel back
and forth across this planet
dwelling into nothingness and
so far away from everything else
maybe home isn't what keeps
us from the outside --
it is us playing make belief
on the porch
guarded by salt walls and lashing
tongues
the horrid stain on every artist's
desk
made in spirit of the restless and
the tormented
scattered words and memories
wrestling with dreams and thoughts
he who cannot speak might scream
the loudest
never judge a book by it's cover
even if it's on fire.
