"damper" poems
My Arwen lies over Belegaer
Beyond the Straight Road, lies my Evenstar
Across the Endless Sea, in Aman she lies
She wouldn't stay here just to love, but to die
I remember her here, here in Endor
When the beacons of Gondor burned bright.
I remember her here, once beside me
In the days before the long night
In Imladris fair, as Estel I was raised
In ignorance there, I spent by blissful days
I lived, and I learned, and yet never yearned
For she from whom I now feel so spurned
I've had my Éowyns, but none quite compare
To She, my lady, so radiant, so fair
At Cerin Amroth we pledged our love
To all, ourselves, and the Ainur above
But the Darkness again spread
Morgoth's mission again led
The Fellowship was wrought
The battles all fought
The Age of the Firstborn was ended
The Age of the Hildor ascended
Our world together was split
And really, that was just it
She could stay here, forever, be mortal
But ever so closely lay Mithlond ,the portal
To a life without end, I can blame her hardly
I guess Barahir's tale was never to be
What’s this? You say she’s not yet set sail?
But how can I stop her? Our parting was so stale!
Sure Elrond's presence and Galadriel's glare
May have done oh so much to damper our parting
But as she goes afar I know I can't go there
And her expressed frigidity, that wound is still smarting
What should I do for her I adore?
Run to the Grey Havens and stop the White Ship?
But so much I must do, right here in Gondor,
A King I can become, as my Queen give me the slip
And the spirits are howling,
The white tree is burning?!
My power, my people
BUT I CAN'T STOP THIS YEARNING
Oh what shall I do? TO ERU ABOVE
I have so much work, but I so miss my Love
The tears, they are welling, the Ship has set sail
In all my adventures, in truth I have failed!
For what am I worth? No King has Returned
And without Hope is Gondor, and the Stewards have burned
Denthar departed, the mighty horn split
The mighty White City left here to sit
I could let it fall into disarray,
Again a Ranger, I could slip away
To die like the Ents, forever, no Wife
Is there nothing to save me from this strife?
A new dawn is rising, a new age begun
My hopes might still clear
with the new rising Sun
I see its my duty, as Arathorn's son… what Isildur started, I must see done
but still I mourn my loss… that beautiful star, which now like all others, I must admire from afar.
~D. B. Guy
09/02/2007
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:21 AM UTC
From beach to beach to beach, glimmering shimmers of sand laden waves lap lazily at your feet. The seaweed masquerade of the crab clumsily dancing amongst the foam is paradoxically poignant but apt.
Sighs of relief as the soothing sensation of the sea on hot blistered feet capture the essence of the moment. The simple pleasures of the beach; sand ridden toes and remarkably veined geodes; the golden grains and barnacle encrusted rocks provide a unique treasure indeed.
And then comes the gentle pitter-patter of a sunshower- putting a literal damper on things- but uniquely completing the picturesque scene.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC
*I sat under a paper umbrella of the reddest hue autumn
and like an apple
I waited for you to pick me ripe
bite, smell my neck
and remember.
I sat on bench of grey weather boards
waiting to be thrown down upon them-
wanting to be pinned down upon them.
Feet on a rug of discarded
leaves, just like me.
discarded but beautiful.
still just a season long
season woman,
can you love me winter long?
Ill meet you on the snowy bench.
white puffs of apologises will float from my mouth.
my toes will shake and the fence we loved for being red
we'll love for being white.
Red will now slither to my ears and you will say things I can't hear.
And the stars will paint the sky too dark so we
can see that winter sparkles.
Spring is full of other lovers, this bench-
lovers that are not you and I.
And the playground is full of candy wrappers and mothers sneakers.
The trees are majestically green stretching and yawning and showing off.
The children bouncing, whining, crying, finding.
Spring is full of lovers but not us
so she gives my heart to summer
and glass doesn't melt so the places where I like to feel your sweat
are the places where they like to touch my body.
summer makes us reckless and the bench, our bench is being held together by the squirrels claws and the sparrows talons... they wait for us to scatter.
hot you kiss my dampness, damper.
hot you kiss my pain and sorrow. boiling all the past good voyage.
our fence has lost some posts as,
the children love to climb and kick
it will hold on, still.
but it won't hold-out and won't hold-in which is what fences are meant to do.
at least they should... they should choose.
Autumn, yes it's autumn ours. We are autumn lovers
with leaves of the book skittering beneath the empty slide.
We are autumn, smell like the burning leaves of who we were.
Smelling like the fresh cut wood, ready to have her rings counted
Autumn lover, hold my hand and tell me you are afraid.
Autumn lover, holding color golden like a circle round.
Hurry, before she blows me past the red fence,
Hurry before our secrets get caught by the wind and dance around the playground.
Hurry Autumn lover,
Hurry to remember that you loved me, once.*
Shannon April Alice
11/2/14
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 2:57 AM UTC
Chasing each moment,
as a pendulum swings on and on.
Dancing in the flight
of a sensitive mystery.
When the light switches on,
I stand there frozen.
An emotive string flows
through me and throughout.
The laws of unrequitement
damper all the smiles.
The flaws of each entity,
tear my soul thin as ice.
I know what must be done,
but can't bring myself
to let go.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 9:12 PM UTC
Please remember to remember not to forget to remember
We braced the chill and last shared voices in November
When with reasons unknown you suddenly lost your temper
And in faceless avenue unseen you put it all in a damper
Please remember to remember not to forget to remember
Two minds steep in years hoping to revive a dying ember
Angling wisely for the solace of light in a peaceful chamber
Rising for noble ideals each a worthy conscientious member
Please remember to remember not to forget to remember
I stoke flames and called out doves in days before September
Not for glory or gain but in delight to fly a friend wishes tender
Homage to a smile Lisa, like that made by da Vinci the painter
Please remember to remember not to forget to remember
Now its time to seek the Sun afar in the land of greens and timber
soothing words that shows the grace and give of a friend keeper
Remains aloof to a joyless onerous mind that will only get sadder
Please remember to remember not to forget to remember
Empty pride rousing clouded mind makes it fittingly simpler
Strength and clarity to atone chimes only wit now't sinister
A truer pilgrim seeks pardon and deftly shames attitudes insular
To the wise what cost affinity in the garland of true harmony
Copyright. LaurenceA31stJuly2018.Allrightsreserved.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 6:51 AM UTC
You were already dead
by the time
I was planted in your soil.
Your story is one told to me
through grainy photographs.
Echoed whispers of
peripheral port cities.
Somewhere lovingly untouchable.
My home was once alive.
My stomach lurches
while picturing these
hollow streets,
once filled with laughter.
The harbour
bursting with smiles.
Each neighbour,
a family or friend,
usually both.
How I love this island!
The salted summer's breeze,
hand woven scarlet autumns.
Wild flowers dancing
atop cliff-sides,
free for us
to admire and absorb.
Absorb we did.
I swear my bones
are made of sea-glass.
How could they be
made of anything less?
In their stories,
you are a fairyland.
A cosmically unified olden wood,
dipped in Scotch
and swaddled in wool.
Yet your branches rot,
thinner and damper each year.
Soon the whispers
will be stale air.
No one will be left
to tell tales
of your beautiful youth.
Everything dies.
How I once wished to see
you in your prime.
Even in your postmortem existence,
you've given me
mud to stick my toes into.
I see you
melting into the sea.
I smell your flesh
being swallowed
by bottom feeders.
You are a wonder to me
all the same.
Apr 22, 2021
Apr 22, 2021 at 10:15 AM UTC
time heals nothing
time is for healing what cannot be fixed
time is not for healing
time is for forgetting the bruises and marks that left her in shame
time can attempt to heal her
but she can never be mended
the screams of pain will turn into whimpers
the tears will dry
and for a moment everything is as it was before him
but him will change everything
time cannot make her forget
time does nothing but damper the noise
him cannot be forgotten
and time does not change that
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
Dream of the Melbourne Cup by Banjo Paterson
Bring me a quart of colonial beer
And some doughy damper to make good cheer,
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 4:00 AM UTC
there are some things,
that just smell so good:
corn freshly shucked, potatoes roasted in campfire coals, carrots fresh from the ground, then washed and stovetop roasted
basted with butter
and lavender honey.
the nape of my toddlers neck,
that clean fresh hopeful little boy smell.
coffee, straight up, freshly brewed
caramel warming,
passionfruit, strawberries, citrus any type, zested. freshly planed fennel curls, mint crushed for a mojito, roast lamb and rosemary gravy.
the smell of planed wood in the palms of my man's hands as i kiss them. frangipani, coconut tanning oil,
earth newly rained upon. popcorn popping, chocolate melting,
jasmine, orange blossoms,
a grove of pine trees.
warm gingerbread and mulled wine.
salt tang on the morning breeze.
the smell that lingers after the lovin.
garlic and ginger in a hot wok.
salt tang on the evening breeze.
prawns all sea salty and
a crisp cold beer.
sandlewood and citrus aftershave lotion on your smoothed cheek.
nectarines, apricots,
a yellow juicy peach,
freshly bitten.
apple scented shampoo daphne & lilac my nana's smell,
bay *** newspaper print and palmolive soap,
my pop's study.
rose petals crushed.
earl grey tea,
toast just before burning damper and cocky's joy
crisp fresh linen warm from the sun.
so many scents, so many smells...
these are my favourites please feel free to add your's, as long as it's clean
and above board.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 7:10 AM UTC
One for the man bunkered down in the trenches
sent in by his country as a henchman.
He's laying in the mud, praying for safety,
losing less blood than what's shed daily.
In this hazy hell, a drug buzz is needed.
Morphine seeps in, easing the beaten.
And in no man's land, a man cries for mercy
but his cries are cut off by the hands of Murphy.
Early in the morning, he packs his bags.
Rucksack on his back, heading back to base camp.
There's a damper in the room, sunken like the marsh.
Friends have fallen, it's clearly marked.
And his heart aches but they can't be dead.
Nah, he sees them every time he lays down his head.
From time to time, he jolts up out of breath,
but he never felt more alive, when he was close to death.
It's not a sob story, no it's just old glory
Two for the man bunkered down by the park bench,
clutching a cup, praying for penance.
He's laying on cement, waiting for change,
and trying to stay dry from the ******* rain.
In this day and age, a drug buzz is needed.
Morphine tabs, tap in the defeated.
Lungs splitting, teeth gritting, he's wishing for mercy.
Two times the dose, he curses out Murphy.
Early in the morning he packs his bags.
Rucksack on his back, he heads back to PADs.
He grabs a tray, sits alone, and says grace
because there's no space open for the "nutcase".
Arm's race to golden gates, he dragged a debt.
He carried his country as heavy as regret.
He carries his friends, they dangle from his neck.
But the thing about memories is that you can't forget.
It's not a sob story, it's just old glory
© Matthew Harlovic
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 12:25 PM UTC
You cant have it, you live it.
You cant find it, you grow it.
You cant take it, its endless.
You cant give it, its given.
No valve, no damper to slow the flow,
Open with the strength of a fire hose with no nozzle to aim,
It floods everything.
Drown in the expansiveness of love,
The most sweet surrender.
Dec 8, 2019
Dec 8, 2019 at 11:13 PM UTC
the abrupt confusion of people
when confronted by unconditional kindness
is addictively amusing and,
quite the damper.
how tragic we are,
capable of selfless service
meeting it only with suspicion and,
disbelief.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 1:24 AM UTC
Fulde hænder og hænderne fulde
Fuglehænder og hændernes fugle
Tankespind fra hjernen, hver gang dine
Beskidte hænder får mig til at gispe
Af ængstelse efter berøring fra andre
Himlen lyser mørkerødt, men indeni
Er min lunge kollapset. Sort.
Skænker dig ikke en tanke når jeg
Mærker himlende fornemmelser,
Som tager mig langt væk fra dig
Trækker vejret dybt og sukker -
Søde tanker mod de dybblå
Have, og strømmende bølger
Himlen brænder og dyrene skriger
For at sætte dig fri; fra mig
Dømmende blikke og blikkende dømmes
Deres øjne følger mig når jeg går ned
Nedenom og hjem, ned af gaden
Nedværdige kommentarer snurrer.
Månen lyser himlen op, men kroppen
Damper mørke skyer på boulevarden.
Spejder og søger, efter svar på vores
Problemstillinger, af nederste skuffe,
Min yndlings dig, mit hjerteskud på
Øverste del af himlen. Ses kun i kort tid.
Vandrende på vejen leder jeg efter
Det vi begyndte med at have. Kærlighed
Du elskede mig ind til benet, men mit
Skind bedragede, min eneste dig, du
Skal forgudes, tilbedes og elskes.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 2:44 AM UTC
My name is Amber
and my mind is like a hamper
a storage unit of far holding a ton of information.
processing the temptation
everything is overflowing
but it doesn't hold enough knowing
of what to do with every emotion
or how to deal with anything in motion
instead of holding it all in, like a caterpillar in a cocoon
my mind is a hamper
that ends up leaving me even damper
than the night before
this is all such a bore
because it's always
the
same
god
****
ending.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
we think we understand gravity
we think it is weak
we assume some apples will fall
in fields of much less colour
the sound is flatter
the leaves are damper
gravity hangs too heavy on some
heavier than we think on some
or admit on some
it is natural to reduce it
we all know a guy who says
some apples just fall ka-plunk
and that's gravity get over it!
knowing we can't actually
get over it
not really!
I know a guy who thinks
gravity works in multiple dimensions
and we can only account
for part of its strength
so the rest remains felt but unseen
That would explain the dimmer light
the clenched off drowning of sound;
that would explain this half-lit world!
the blurred nerves in the going of motion…
I have adjusted accordingly.
I have a skeleton crew
to keep things ticking over
so I can take the weight
of all those other places.
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 3:09 AM UTC
I daydream of dreaming
a dream:
comfortable and surreal.
In it, an antique shop full of character
and the scent of mothballs and dust.
A haphazard maze of dark lit corners
pulls me to its depths,
where nestled in the back,
is a perfectly imperfect piano.
Ironic how the blatantly splintered key
is the most out of tune, no?
In this dream within a daydream,
I sit on a squeaking stool,
foot on a loose damper,
and play all that I know.
In this dream to be,
I know not,
or recognize what I play,
but know it's home
and find peace in knowing.
The name Chopin
would be the faintest
of underlying memories,
but the first upon waking.
All we are is what we are not,
and were I dreaming this dream,
that notion would live in my being;
in the pockets of my marrow
and in the pit of my throat.
No Steinway could produce
such a twang so unimaginably beautiful.
Only the physically appealing use the word ugly,
and only the true understand the word beauty.
In my dream to be,
I watch myself,
but feel the keys
as they disintegrate
after violently being yanked from slumber.
Would I dream,
I would gasp and reach in wake,
grasping nothing,
and yearn again
to live without
vivid self awareness.
Yet when conscious,
I seek lucidity,
despite the comfort
found in effortlessness.
So snap me out of it.
Slap the porcelain saucer
that is my cheek,
for I am no Poe,
and this no "dream within a dream"
but a waltz
with the idea of serendipity.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 4:55 PM UTC
Step by step I take on damper paths
Compelling and slippery
In tact is with the dread and misery.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 2:51 AM UTC
NO!
I DON’T WANT MAGIC!
I CRY
HU HU HU
AI AI AI U U U
IT’S TOO MUCH
REALLY!
Sometimes good enough
also
a slice of Toasted bread
Put also some
Peanut Butter
Cheese n Hot Sambal
and a pickle on top
Oh what a CRISPY NIBBLE
to enjoy then
Before the breeze -
After the rain
Maybe also an Apple?
And a Nut?
Sun shines Bright
on the ICY
New harvested snow
See me Touch ?
MMM
WHAT A BITE WHAT A BITE
yes I like it
Gimme Physics
Satisfy my pie-crust
make it Equally
Robust
You know
My trajectory
is not that Bizarre or FAR
I NEED NO BALLISTICS
R UGETTN ME now
SLOWLY?
CRAZY?
MAYBE?
SUCH IS A
PROPELLIN NOZZULE
RIFILIN IN A BARREL
OH NO
not A JOKE
Really! ... neither A BAD BLOOD
BUT ITS GETTIN HARD
Holding these GOLDEN TIES
I MEAN
AHAHA
AM I MEAN ?
hihihiooo
When it’s time to say GOODBYE
or When it’s time to say
There he GOES AGAIiiiiiN
WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE ANYWAY?
THE SAILING BOAT?
YEAH ?
I KNOW…
YEAH. SURE IT FALLS!
I MEAN
DOWN THE HORIZON?
OF COURSE
SURE I BELIEVE YOU
SURE THE WORLD IS STRAIGHT
SURE IT IS AS YOU SAY ME TRUE
BUT
MIRACLE MIRACLE
show me A MIRACLE
BUT
MAGIC O MAGIC
Show me A
UHM PUNCH OUCH!
SEE!
IT simply Blows US UP! (( AGAIN!
BEFORE U could HUNCH n PUNCH
BEFORE you would put
a DAMPER ON
and Your
Enchanting APPEARANCE inside
BEFORE I could RIDICULE You
yeah only by Yellin’ at you
STOP YOUR TOXIC YOLO N ****
FASTEN IT WITH A FAKE LOCK
OH WHAT A LOSS OF FIGHT
OH WHAT a delusive JOKE YO
at least tie IT REAL TIGHT
because
LIARS LIE
LIKE A Burning EYE AIII!
N invent CRY ME A RIVER EYE
AUCH it's HOT ….I TOLD YOU!
BEAUTIFUL is ANY Nature once TRUE
Don’t WHINE - what can YOU DO?
AT LEAST I LOVE YOU!
ITS NOT TOO BAD REALLY: Being a LIZARD
AND let it STAY THIS WAY as is
for a while
AS A SIGH FOR NOW
A SHY SIGH IN THE SKY !
SOUNDIN ALREADY SO BEAUTIFUL
SHYNESS COMES FROM MY SIDE
SIGHNESS FROM YOURS
Don't WORRY IT’S COOL- WE’RE A TEAM
YOU JUST NEED TO MAKE IT SOUND A BIT GRUMPY
AND WE LET iT disappear THIS WAY
OH YEAH!
such is A SIGH IN THE SKY
OH YEAH
THE SHY N A SICKENIN CRYING SONG
OF YOU AND I
LIKE I LIKE I
LAI LAI LAI AI AI AI HU HU HU U U U
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 6:45 PM UTC
I have discovered that my blocked nose
is not the reason I can’t smell roses.
The smell has been cut out of the genus
for the sanity of sensors on cargo airplanes.
What then, about my children and their’s,
when they discover old books for themselves
and ask questions about the smell of flowers?
About poetry, and the Nineteenth century?
How would I tell the tale of family Plantagenet,
with flags as dead as Lancaster and York?
This tragedy seems so terribly unfair when roses
are so much prettier than instruments on planes,
every petal a miniature piece of God’s own skin.
I need to walk down to the roadside florist if I can
get out of this sweaty blanket into this chilly weather
and find one of these ****** roses so I can dismember
its petals one by one. I must disembowel this litany if I can
she loves me, she loves me not, she wants me extinct
bred out of this world for convenience,
just like the forgotten smell of those roses.
The tragedy to be told is that women are not supposed
to be the main course in your life, the glorious bouquet of roses
that you set the table around. They are more like condiments
to an existence already charmed, but if the ketchup has gone rotten
it tends to put a damper on how everything tastes and everything smells,
I can’t smell the flowers and there are too many forks.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC
An unfamiliar imbalance has sunken into the very being of my existence
Sluggish and slow, the twenty-four hour days repeat themselves
and I feel the imbalance continue to grow...
Creativity and emotions bubble to the surface of my mind
whirlwinds of interlacing thoughts and ideas yet to be formed into stories
worlds exist within my mind,
slowly evolving, growing, living, breathing on their own
But tethered am I to the world of imbalance
where red skies and black ground damper the life within
concrete creations and false purposes that provides printed success
Tethered am I to the world of imbalance
where greedy pigs squeal and splash until they get their way
evolved to wear suits, and leave the squalor to the poor
Tethered am I to the world of imbalance
where a false savior excused future sins
but offers no solace to those whom the sinners wronged
But,
against a darkness wearing my own face
against tyrants who control my life
against every defeat wrought by my mistakes
I still stand, a legacy of lessons at my back, and an immeasurable amount of teachers ahead
Despite the mud in which I travel so slowly through
my feet carry me forward, the weight of my world on my shoulders
This is my journey, an epic told by whimsical poems
my face is not one of a crowd
but a symbol at the forefront of the army that is my passion
soldiers brought to life by the stroke of a key that fight for me
Words are my weapon and I will not be silenced.
c.d.l.
8/20/13
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 8:02 AM UTC
"Tiss that time of year,
the field rodents run,
the big machines hum,
the snakes slither,
gofers go deeper,
all to avoid the whirling blades,
dust clouds rise and damper the sun,
scavenger birds look for eatable pieces.
Harvest time busy the crops to gather.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
Old pictures paint false delusions I wonder why no one has ever captured mine?
Tears are nothing to empty hearts, guess it pays to be a ******* than a dreamers second chance.
I buried my thoughts in a shallow grave.
Only to unearth my soul upon this page.
The lit cigarette and yet another empty bottle of *****
We fumble in desires bound by shackles formed by a ever present need.
Tonight she lusts for another yet settles for me.
Her empty room is better than a cluttered prison of your own creation.
Her taste of strawberry doesn't damper my burn, contact of the flesh isn't a connection of soul.
Simply a reflex of addiction and mine knows no end.
The furnace burns through the night yet can't kindle this flame.
Some **** is better left dead!
Her poison knows no antidote I simply revel in this decay.
Remorse is for the weak the cigarettes light glows from her presence from the edge of the bed.
She looks at the shadows on the wall casts from the cities night.
As she wonders does he want as she?
There are many forms of emptiness, and far too little definitions of being alone.
She lingers in thought for only a second, and then she is gone.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
I am a pillar of hate and greed, I steal what I want and I take what I need.
I assist with false hopes as I plant my seed, For I am a pillar of hate and greed.
Those cross imbeciles try to ruin my path, Though I cut them down with all of my wrath.
So this is to my friends and family and staff, If you **** with me you shall feel my wrath.
Don't confuse my games with self-righteous pride, It's behind these words I solemnly hide.
I take my wounds and move in stride, Though, again I stress, I do not live with pride.
From the base of jealousy it grows deleterious, As limp-minded city-folk pointlessly grow envious.
Futile lifestyles spending time so serious, When they're only growing more and more ****** envious.
The sound of a nation all heard in harmony, As they are broken in hope drowning deep in gluttony.
Cries left in silence though felt in agony, A colony of gluttony as our history's a piece of me.
With the thought of a loved one nothing less than a must, I've drowned in my pity, suffocated in lust.
Left alone in the damp, cold, dark to rust, Left alone to think, to dream in lust.
Through dried skin and sorrow and tattle-toned cloth, Comes the smell of a damper, more cattle-toned sloth. Cooking up and dying until stewed into broth, Everything's a chore for a dead-lazy sloth.
I am a pillar of hate and greed, I steal what I want and I take what I need.
I assist with false hopes as I plant my seed, For I am a pillar of hate and greed.
Feb 21, 2010
Feb 21, 2010 at 4:37 PM UTC
I want your fingers to kiss my skin, like a pianists kiss the keys
I want your lips to explore mine like music explores the air
I want your body to press against mine like the musicians foot against the pedal
I want us to work together like string and damper
I want to feel your presence like a song stuck on my head
I want to be your everything like music is so me.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 4:09 PM UTC
Cracks creep
Snakes on the wall
Into the darkest patches
Where the light fails
From my bed, I can see
The shadows of the lizards
And the damp
In the trees
I can see the corners of the bed posts
And the humming of wasps
They have a nest near by
Fierce
I can taste the corners of the world
From my bed
I can feel the cracks
Creeping
I can hate the very deepest darkest split
In the paint
And vow to get it fixed
Someday
Or I could sleep
But that’s no good when there’s
Dirt on your shoes
And there’re no flowers this time of the year
I can see around corners
From my bed
But the snakes creep higher
And the trees become damper
And the sky sinks down down deep in the ground
And it comes back up, around all the corners
Clutching diamonds.
Jan 18, 2011
Jan 18, 2011 at 12:18 PM UTC