Stardust in cupped hands A blow of the wind sends it off into the dark abyss. The only tiny sparks of light in that echoing space. Like a sudden strike of flint against stone.
Other darkness lurking in the unknown.
All others forgotten. No trace of kindness.
But that spark. That spark is all that was needed to ignite a flame. A flame that rages on an eternal flame. It dies but never eternally. Always a trace. A spark.
You leave me spluttering,
You came out of nowhere,
you took me by surprise.
I tried to stop you,
tried to smother you,
tried to cover you up,
but I couldn't breathe,
I couldn't speak, couldn't scream for help.
I was choking.
you made one thought consume my body;
'please just... stop.'
And eventually you did,
and I never want to see you again -
it's bad enough that I still have your mess to clean up.
I hate you,
I hate you like a nosebleed.
I will not crave the admiration of others on the reflexes
of what I verse, incomplete metaphors are a valuation
of what you perceive in what is collected in the vaults
of my indiscriminate imaginings.
I will throw a penny in the fountain of what I spill in
unprecedented flurries. Would you catch what I scatter
into the pond of vacant words. Would you catch what
I throw? or watch the ripples of what it could become.
I will always throw a stone in to the white to see what
splashes on the verges of mind. I'm more deep than I
know, how many coins will you throw to see my depth.
Will all sink not showing the shimmer of my words.