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Tiana Jun 27
It all started with humans,
Humans,
Who were unaware,
And ignored those who asked them
to be beware;

And now,
There's nothing left except regrets!
Words will not be enough to describe this regret!

When you realize,
You could've prevented it,
When you cry to the oblivion,
"Just one chance please! I'll fix everything!"

But that chance you never get,
And nothing you could find to console yourself is left!
Except pains and regrets!
A glimpse of regret
jiminy-littly Jan 2016
Adam!
turn me over and sing me a song of sixpence
hearing voices, not seeing faces ... with the radio on

it's just me myself and I

driving between towns emoting, gushing
hurt me, break me, **** me!
at the top of my lungs

finding bars buried in backyards
on back roads of insincerity

birch bitten and chewed
logs wet and rotten
and still, chords neatly stacked in ordered rows

can you stand me on my feet?

back home
brushing my teeth yellow
biting my nails turgid, hoping she will come with me to a show
my state is of a lower-class shambling

hoping for a renewal
                or rebirth

sweating on the train repeating God's name

gasping for air making people nervous staring
at their phones wondering if I am going to keel over and die

it's just me myself and I

that's right, write it out in long hand first, then go back and edit

(wishing  to write  like  Tarkovsky)

comparing father and son - an unchecked exception
they were buried in separate coffins
                one in France the other, in a timber cask

but won't I be
too?

I wish I could say, "we have a saying in my country" or "scripture says" or

"I'm lost without you"  (I am and now found).

In ruins at the end of a day
building pigeon flap (or come what may)
ascending a scale of notes in a mirror of songs
behold an image
in a scale of descending notes at dawn.
Зеркало (HD) / The Mirror - YouTube.

The Mirror of Time and Memory

Live in the house-and the house will stand.
I will call up any century,
Go into it and build myself a house…
With shoulder blades like timber props
I help up every day that made the past,
With a surveyor’s chain I measure time
And traveled through as if across the Urals.

I only need my immortality
For my blood to go on flowing from age to age.
I would readily pay with my life
For a safe place with constant warmth
Were it not that life’s flying needle leads me on Through the world like a thread.
Arseniy Tarkovsky

His song sounds rather like this:
A drawn-out "ohh-h-h-h-h-h," descending downward, almost like a sweet moan, followed by a series of about 7 or 8 descending notes, like a descending scale, fading slowly toward the end of his song. Thus:
Ohhhhhhhhhhhh
                         la
                             la
                                 la
                                    la
                                       la
                                          la
                                             la
                                                la
Judith Posted 06 July 2007 - 08:56 PM

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