Truth is the word
That we’ve always
Onto my pillow
It’s that I’ve never had
To sew my
Pink of my lips
It is always you
With truth shears in
The hand you’re always
That sets them
To fly and
Your work on
With little fingers
And quiet tenderness
Of our bigger picture
Unravels before me
Making more sense
With Every stitch
When I leave my
In places so
You help me
To drag me back
You remind me
That my fabric is
But never to fear
What no longer
Being Raggedy Ann
Always comes with
Of loose threads
And I’m forever
As your soul.
it was, supposedly,
how foolishly damned it has been
they constantly kept racing
knocking down onto little stubs of candles
how can we deal with such
visitation that now lives deep
I think it’ll be years
before I’m done untwisting these threads
come to a crippled loop
The closer to christmas the more chaos
We get wrapped up in making treats and buying gifts and watching movies
We wish the days would fly faster and get to the 25
but each day belongs to be treasured and not be rushed and thrown away
And strewn across the floor forever forgotten *
And by the time you try to remember a detail of the day
It is gone in a wise since you rushed through it not caring about the *details or the small things
Time is precious like fine china but weaves a web finer than human eye *can see
Don't let it slip through your fingers for the dice our rolled the moves are played
The people are moved coming closer to the end
*Don't rush through life in hustle and bustle for enjoying the small things *in life are truly pleasures *
How can it be
that you can have everything
and still want more?
Am I greedy when I ask
"is there anything else?"
How can it be
that the ties of friendship
can be undone?
Are they not elastic?
Aren't they impervious
to the ever-shifting sands of time
that weather meeker men
down to disassociated
piles of dust?
How can it be
that you can plant roots
that spread and intertwine themselves,
seemingly immune to any upward motion,
just to pluck them from the ground
that nurtured them for years
and place them somewhere
unlike anything they've ever known?
How can it be
that the world can hold so many secrets
and yet our instincts tell us
to discover the truth?
No secret was ever discovered
by trusting a single source;
like the threads of a dream-catcher,
we entangle ourselves in multiple realms
to capture what we seek.
I don't know which face means more:
the smiling ones
that coax me into song, and folly,
and memories as precious as time,
or the one blemished with melancholy
as it stares back at me
knowing there's so much more.
How can it be
that we have an imagination
as wide as the universe,
and yet we never dare
to find the borders?
K. R. Dalton
It happened in the car.
You said something
With no words at all.
A simple phrase simply not stated
Left us both unabated.
flash, lightning crashed.
In the words your thoughts lashed.
Seemingly unexpected, surreal.
Love's storm neglected to feel
The calm composure of a couple
In a moment so presently past.
Sewn so tightly in quilts of security
Our threads, silence understanding seams.
Only Momentarily, singularly unhemmed.
Crack roars thunder in our ears.
passion's seams unscathed.
Woven seemingly anew
Bared skin of the two.
The moment ablaze.
Red and blue have been blasting through my door
roaring and romping a mighty chorus
stomping through my days
both dying to feel me up
I feel hardy when they love
but they are not mine to keep.
They come to me as scarves and scales
as patches to post over my bodies
muddy and weak
myself to be seen.
These colors flash secrets of superficiality
savor the feeling of severed psyche
with puzzlingly pieced anatomy.
Blue boiling with my boyhood
my mind over smooth shoulders swells.
I stand beside my dad - his sharp eyes teach me
the game of absorption and receiving.
His eyes trap a moment
hold it up by its collar
(look dad, no hands!)
collecting hidden tokens
flipping them in his fingers
a trophy of bladed knowledge.
But my father is color blind.
He does not know which threads to cut
when I plead
help me detangle
they linger tease and deride
tugging and pulling at my heart
the pieces may come apart
sometimes they don't transpire
yet they keep me ......
my creative thoughts......
Hang on threads
In my brain
Nagging just annoying me
Knotting and tangling up
In tight knots causing
Normal feelings that got me
......nope not me ....
.... I'm Just....
We held hands in the dark
When we couldn’t find another hand to hold
We sewed them together so if we ever got lost we would know that we’d never be alone
Watched the stars and the moon play peek a boo with the clouds
And we danced in the rain
Because we knew that together we were safe from the world
Each taking turns shielding each others hearts from the pain of the outside
Building walls of protection piece by piece
Promising each other the sun will rise soon
Just be patient
Because night can only last for so many days
But the stitches in our hands grew lose
And roots of bitterness grew in our hearts
And nothing seemed to be perfect anymore
As we tried to fix all the stitches at the top
The bottom ones began to fall
Threads began to fray
Leaving festering feelings of anger and hurt
We tried to ignore it all
Tried to keep it all together
But the bitterness and anger grew
If we both died would it be joint suicide
Would it be a love story that would resemble Romeo and Juliet
Or would it be a homicide
Because we found the scabs that hurt the most
And pushed until we couldn’t go anymore
We held each other
While squeezing the others vulnerable heart
Until pieces slowly began to crack
As if we were boa constrictors squeezing their prey for the next meal
Yet never actually killing the prey
But letting it suffer breathe by breathe
Yet never letting it enjoy its last few moments of life
Broken promise and broken hearts
Pain written in the clouds above
The inevitable written in the stars
It’s time to rip the last of these stitches out as if they were band aids
Let these wounds have a chance to finally heal
It’s time to let the sun rise and to see what around the next bend in the road
Because our hearts won’t heal behind these walls
And our silent murders are getting out of hand
Wash the blood off your hands and say our good byes
Because this will be the last sip of poison that I will take
We live another complication everyday,
Adding another thread to bind us.
It's been so long...
Can't move my wings, my limbs--
How did I get stuck?
Did I do this to myself?
The puppeteer is pulling too hard!
I want to move,
But I can't
I'm twisted up,
The thread is too tight;
I can feel the dread of suffocation on the horizon.
I'm trying, I'm fighting,
I want to be free!
But I can't move anymore...
The thread won't let me,
The strings are being pulled too tight--
My prison, it cuts into my skin,
I can barely breathe enough to live on...
I want this suffering to end!
I remember now,
I took the thread of my own free will!
It started that day...
When I heard them speak,
I did as they asked,
And the thread wound around me.
I didn't ask for answers and didn't speak of my questions;
I kept on going where their path lead,
And I ended up here:
Suffocated, stranded, in naïve ignorance.
Even though the puppeteer wants me to move,
Even though I can feel his anxiety to help;
He can't do a thing.
The thread has been wound too tight,
If the thread won't snap soon,