So much to take to vibrate in higher states
To liberate what you must pay.
I try to make myself see,
I find emptiness in an invisible sea.
Held, blind, my eyes are not mine,
But the truth is clear ,
But my lips are sealed,
Anyway there is no one to hear.
While i am connected i am leaving symbols maybe someone will read for me my roles.
Words Of Harfouchism
She dreams in aqua blue,
seasons melting into one another,
dancing among fallen leaves
or beneath the golden sun,
her fiery green eyes shimmering
like emeralds in a jewelry store case,
skin like water running through fingers,
hands thrown to the sky
casting rainbows like ribbons
to celebrate the dawning of her joy.
As an ice River flower
Say it was from the gods
Of the Himalayan
For each peak
Is the home of either.
So when you see a river
Think where it came from
Through the rivers and the rain
My emotions seep
No matter how far I reach
How quiet I be
Or how fervently I wish
For this condensated heart to dry
Beneath stars and moonlight vain
Locked in the garden of perpetual being
Without your warmth of certain meaning
And when the new morning comes
With the quiet thought
I realize what I had always ought
That I cannot seem to make you mine
Regardless of the place or time
The earth we see
When its tumultuous and green
Are the rivers
Carving out valleys deep beneath
I did a pretty in depth analysis on one of my favorite singer/songwriter and the results were surprising. He often crafts lyrics in a very poetic fashion, with an orderly, underlying structure of sorts. Never unwilling to bend or break from the format. But still clever in the ways of syllable-based structuring. Which is cool and makes me want to take better care of my own prose and poetic lines.
An interesting tale, this one
That of the thorn-
Scared, scary and the opposite of sociable.
She had seen kindness from the time she was born
But not kindness that would knit her a shield;
She found such humility
So she tried to perform to the best of her ability.
Ms. Thorn learnt zaps beyond imagination,
Beyond blooming Thursday tulips and glistening rivers
And then- with time, began her altercation.
Kindness & knowledge asked to enter her mind
Until the moment she glimpsed at her reflection in the misty rain drops
And saw a rose.
It was time to quill several full stops.
Alstroemeria, Southern-rooted watcher of the skies,
Angel tongues of Peru, with your ******-blushed annunciation
Or Incan-hued sacrificial fire.
So much like the moon tongues of all rivers in first frost or first harvest.
Like first love, first death is the truest form,
And blooms in scorn of all its many-mirrored rivers to come.
For a slide video of this and other poems, please check out my Instagram page at chrissaitta or my Tumblr page at Chris-Saitta.