thoughts, they are
smoke escaping from chimneys and clouding darkened skies,
skies home to birds flapping their wings trying to fly,
thoughts are flying bricks falling all at once on shoulders already holding weights,
weighing the night's silence on open palms
and fingers blackened with soot
hold feathers plucked from tree branches,
seeking to clean bloodied slates
in gardens where dreams flow down the river into caves
-caves with lights at the end of tunnels,
and lamps which flicker during storms and
lightning which penetrates even closed eyes.
thoughts, they are
companions with opens arms which sometimes have
knives hidden up their sleeves,
and they are wells
which hold coins-
silver, gold, bronze and brass.
dreams and wishes fondled by the gentle, sometimes
corrosive current of waves
and shadows which carry the tube light just so they stay alive.
but these thoughts, they are also
my reason for you,
chains and leaves hanging with ease around a neck and rings which sing like canaries on insomniac fingers
and crimson letters carrying pictures, so
with that is my justice,
because with your name they give me solace, and
with your image they give me peace
and with the sound of your voice in the meadows of my mind,
i find tranquility.
and with the shadows that follow on my heels, i laugh and i smile,
because with these thoughts
i am with you and you,
you are
with me
---------
Inspired by poet E. E. Cummings, though the official name for the writing style in question is still debatable (supposedly).
