"searchlights" poems
With every set, my anxious heart beats with silver
Each of the beats, counting away the reign of the sun
Before finally taking my shift as guardian of the night sky
In my entirety, pulses of incandescent blood does run
As the sun leaves, I rise and and take my rightful place
I'd find my usual nook on my bed of black
Surrounded by familiar friends scattered all over
A million jewels spilling out of heaven's sack
I'd silently watch the earth, reaching with gentle translucent fingers
Silver searchlights scour the lands, I harvest all in view
But my beams were never meant for others
Do believe that... I've saved them only for you
Amongst the sea of hopefuls, I'd always find yours
Looking up with my reflection branded into those eyes
Let us merge our dreams of mercury and red
Rest in the cradle of my light, as I soothe all your cries
Dear Moongazer, it's been a few nights now
Bound by my predestined orbit, I can't help but turn away
Believe that I am resisting with all that I have in me
Unseen defiance in this futile fight so that longer I'd stay
Several more had passed... I feel the promise of fate encroaching
The crushing weight of universe's anvil bearing down
Tearing a little at a time, leaving me lesser than whole
Now I'm half draped in darkness' gown
As the nights go by, I've long been eaten
I peer from my side as I float a slim silver crescent
The time has arrived, my love, I shall leave you in the company of the stars
They will keep you safe even if they seem indifferent
Fully turned away, I now see only fresh new hearts
They all sing the same but none like you
Still I glow to rekindle their hopes and dreams
But what I long is for this tour to be through
After what seemed like an eternity, I'm coming back round
Looking for your beacon as I shine bright and clear
Let our entities intertwine as the moon and her gazer
*I am your lunar love...
and I am here...*
.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 1:32 AM UTC
I’m a Polyglot Polymath, Microphone’s a Polygraph,
Manners of a Sociopath-Rhymin’ keeps me on the path,
Else I’d be hackin you up like a cannibal,
Pullin the Chianti out-serve you up like Hannibal,
Words heavier than Elephants invading cross the alps,
Under Armour over Body Armour-waistline fulla scalps,
From the Belt o’ the Celt o’ the Schizophrenic Sandman,
You’re triple teamed by -EC- Raps new Xmen.
I broke me chains,some say I went insane,
But it’s simple,all I went and did was grow a brain.
be the Bane of your life,while Mal plays Dark Knight,
A rhyme Super Villain with a verse of Dark Light,
The searchlights on-watch the cockroach scatter,
We speak Dark Matter while your brain gets battered,
batten down the screws-worldviews get skewed,
Mal and Sandman's Positively Mental Attitude.
It’s the original Irish OG rough rugged and ready,
Battling me is futile keep your hands steady,
I’m no pacifist,and if you take the ****
I’ll clap you with a fist like an obelisk,
That’s a grave warning,-global warming,
The Dragon of Eire ,skies look stormy…
Since cassettes and disks I’ve been spittin ****
That makes wannabee’s wanna slit their wrists,
The Sandman’s calling,come in and take a mauling,
Rappin since clappin one two and yes y’allin,
from New Aulins to saint Pauls my kin,
Are gathering for the quickenin,pulse races,air thickenin'
Highlander in a land cruiser,take your teeth out like a dentist
E.C’s BRUISER.
batten down the screws-worldviews get skewed,
by Mal and Sandmans Positively Mental Attitude.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 1:36 PM UTC
*Elemental Metamorphosis & Transcendental Milestones,
Sempiternal Origamis Of Her Temperamental Clones,
Spiraling Perpetuities & Her Sacrosanct Fortitude,
Procreating Tipsy Ruptures In Her Permeating Solitude,
Perplexed Momentum & Her Outlandish Constellations,
Nuclear Decay Of Her Masked Radiations,
Verbal Shadows & Her Tranquil Ascendance,
Encasing Her Tears In Liquefied Transcendence,
Yearning Oddities & Entropic Oceans,
Vitalizing Inexorable Emotions Into Phosphorescent Potions,
An Hourglass Existence Of Her Fabricated Virility,
Dwelling In Quantum Ascents Of Ardent Agility,
Silver Ghosts Of Her Prismatic Abyss,
Convicting Glass Houses In Her Ecstatic Bliss,
Telepathic Shades & Hollow Palisades,
Detrimental Novelists On Uncharted Crusades,
Pernicious Scars In Her Profound Gaze,
Erupting Genesis Inside Her Dimensional Maze,
Perplexed Periphery & Digital Fictions,
Annexed By Her Hourglass Depictions,
Breakdown Sanity & Her Concealed Screams,
Lifelike Dewdrops In Her Visionary Dreams,
Satellite Searchlights & Love//Less Progenic Mutation,
Paralyzed Sunlight Sparking Genetic Alteration,
Monochromatic Streams & Cinematic Realms,
Static Screams Of Her Toxic Schemes.
- 05:43 AM -*
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 11:18 PM UTC
If you drive down route 235,
the lonely parallel line of route 5,
running through St. Mary's County, Maryland,
between the intersection of Old Three Notch road
and St. Andrew's Church road,
and the liquor store at the corner of Mattapany--
you must do so with a fat wallet,
and a growling stomach,
who barks at the flashing signs
of the sparkling chain restaurants--
wafting their familiar scents out the windows
and onto the busy street.
Utterly beleaguered every which way by these olfactory factories,
your mouth waters and your wallet lightens
as the tantalizing sensations
permeate your vehicle.
So you cave;
another lost soul vacates the street at Restaurant Alley,
under the prowling searchlights
and the intoxicating smells lingering like a dense fog;
You linger in your purgatory with glee.
You exit satisfied, patting your abdominous belly
and lifting your smiling face to the sky
in thanks to the gluttonous gods
who rain down these chain restaurants
from the heavens.
A satisfied sigh seeps out of loose lips,
barely hanging on to your fleshy face,
so ruddy and fat.
You act like your stop was something novel,
like it wasn't routine to acquiesce to these temptations;
you return to your car to continue your roamings
down restaurant alley.
Sadly, a full stomach won't stifle a querying nose,
and your senses are soon at it again;
just as the waiters and waitresses,
cooks and busboys--
are back at the window, leaning outside
with their clamorings and bustlings and cookings--
You pretend to entertain willpower as your copilot,
but even if that were so,
your senses would still be at the wheel,
with your mind bound and gagged in the trunk.
Restaurant Alley goes on for miles and miles and miles,
seemingly endless in the permeating fog of
burgers and pancakes and pasta and chicken and fries and burgers and soda and ice cream and beer and pasta and wine and America and pancakes and steak and appetizers and desserts and entrees and specials and kids menus and burgers and chicken and pasta and fries and burgers and ice cream and salad and burgers and soda and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat!
There's nothing to eat;
there's nothing to do but eat in Restaurant Alley,
on route 235 in St. Mary's County, Maryland.
So fasten your seat belt,
and loosen your waist belt,
and take a doomed trip down the endless roadway--
where you are dragged, shackled to food chains
that haul you from the perdition that is the lobby's waiting room
to be seated with loved ones at the mercy seat of Ambrosia.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 5:02 PM UTC
Spirituality without religion, politics without opinion
My knowing soul blinks into the ebbing light
Outrunning the plodding clockwork:
My inner intrepid sprints into the hazy night
All at once, the arc slits the velveteen,
The searchlights are pounding
Their harsh silence crashes in my ears,
My beatnik – she’s drowning
The magician holds a rope ladder
Spun of parotted truths and ink print thoughts:
My knowing soul blinks,
And stays its lonely course
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 6:24 AM UTC
At night, against the pulsing embryonic black which could
Squeeze any number of untold horrors from it’s voided heft,
There sits a door; bright searchlights unmoving, having forever
Ago found and revealed the menacing target of their feverish hunt.
The lights, beacons of vision and revelation stay still,
Afraid to ever lift their gaze from the door.
The door; a crimson sentinel of conformity’s’ demands. A gate
To a finite space of infinite secluded terrors. It’s mocking facade,
Not the true foundation of the haunting visage, but it’s chosen
Illumination against the choking nothingness around it.
There is nothing else but it, and if the lights lose
Their oppressive gleaming, there will be nothing.
Would it not be better for the deep to win the ever waging war
Against our struggles to find hints of sight and recognition?
If the door were to vanish from the othering out there,
then it would be impossible to not turn inward. A forced reflection,
a mirror that’s presence is known, existence felt, but is unseen,
only available when the absence is absolute.
Nonplussed, the bastion remains, a gravity well pulsing
In and out the night, as if the darkness centered around
Maintaining the illusion of safety from knowing ourselves.
Do not be afraid, you will not be forsaken or alone with anything
Other than the beating of your quickened pulse, the edges
Of your vision shrinking until all that you are
Is mirrored in that crimson sentinel.
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 9:28 PM UTC
this love is now & new & once again
stabbing @ me like durga-like diety
with sweet golden daggers
an essential togetherness
teasing out of these odd surroundings
I was listening to Jack Kerouac on the way
home in his mad
bop rhapsody apocalypse
streaming out my speakers
while familiar streets crawl past
once again
I'm thinking
as the day old glum spread over me
& out to envelop all I see
how little different to be watching
seeing street signs all opening
into cul-de-sacs and open storefronts
paraded in the endless traffic flow
now bent slow over
feeding my cat crab cakes
that my mother made
myow myow, he goes
& I acknowledge
myow myow, he goes
& I answer
what?
what in god's name is
the matter with you?
myow myow
his solemn reply
licking @ a piece of
exposed claw meat
nestled among old bits
of dry brown kibble
how about this soul?
how about this life?
this sickness?
how about this always seeking I?
how about he music of my mind
in untraceable car rides alone?
wherefore to I wander
ceaselessly in search of what
wonders where I might be
born on the road of least descent
cat paws, grabs @ bottle caps on
grained wood table
my media
fizzles & searchlights
in my window
there is something I'm not facing
something inescapable, my love
like you
born of locusts in the dust, my love
like you
my weary dune-mother
how solemn are the tunes that run
thy face, o' mother and thy will
how broken are the lines upon thine
shining brow in bedroom windows
open to the world like peace
stolen in the sad glance I gaze @ everything
stolen is the cup I fill @ leaking kitchen
sink pipe strands of scent or bark
of neighbor dogs amusing grass flow
weather flowers under well I'm never
knowing what--I never will
no matter, all is well
another's all is nothing now
where knock goes streaming
crashing loud
like anvils in the rain
it's only me
how now, my dear contender?
like a shadow fallen into sound
how now the planets unwatered?
how now the roots are killed?
we all inhabit the same fears
how rabbit hides his smear
to give me a surprise
for me, none so dear
than the mystery
& April dies today
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 1:54 AM UTC
Just down by the lights
at brokenland
there is a small patch of wilderness and a park,
where three cats roam.
The first is white with big splotches of grey
as if it built its camouflage
betting last winter would never end
now an easy spot amongst the hill of green.
The second was a dark grey
the color of the shade under a pine tree
on a partly sunny day
or a storm cloud ready to light up the sky.
The third was black head to toe,
body slim like that of a dancer,
and eyes of bright amber that shined like searchlights
even with a sky full of clouds.
The first I saw on high alert
nose up high, ears pointed, standing tall
a dog down the hill of unkempt grass
it’s owner leashed and in tow.
The second I saw on the hunt,
weaving in and out of wildflowers
leaping and pouncing gracefully,
steadily and quickly traversing the hillside.
The third I saw leisurely sitting by the road,
legs folded underneath it on a rotting log
watching traffic like a king on its throne
yet in seeming awe of its steady flow.
I have seen each cat only once
always when I am moving boxes to the new house
and I wonder if they have an owner
among the white row houses off Little Patuxent.
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 9:39 PM UTC
I was born on a Sunday,
But this happened on a Thursday
I was looking for words
So I went for a walk
Down to the corner
Tonight there would be songs
So I said I’d join
She spoke soft
Quiet
I was an orange amongst the apple trees
She wore camo pants
And you wouldn’t understand
Until she got up and sang
No-ones fool
She was a rebel with a cause
A rebel with a mind
The words to my Revolution song
She was only 17
She put her little hand in mine
We’ve been chasing those
Quiet wells
The mighty ones
The evergreen ones
With our searchlights
Lights that want to push walls with outstretched hands
It’s been a global fight, from inside
From the dawn and well into the night
Looking for peace, for god, for answers, reflections
For things that can’t be denied
So don’t even try
She wore camo pants
And you wouldn’t understand
Until she got up and sang
She was a rebel with a cause
A rebel with a mind
She was the words to my Revolution song
She was only 17
She put her little hand in mine
I was born on a Sunday,
But his happened on a Thursday
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 8:01 PM UTC
This floatation device doesn't work
so well anymore, not now that night
is falling and the chill sets through
my marrow.
Currents were made to drift,
and so they do. In and out
the tides swell like lovers
falling into and out of bed.
All the rocking has made
me dizzy, and the seasickness
and nausea pools in the water
like shark red undercurrents
and skies at dawn.
The rain is usually an indication
that you're entering the eye,
where it is calm for seconds,
fingertips tingling, twitching,
waiting for the explosion
that rips the sails from above
you, and sends you plunging
into an eddy.
And when you are tossed overboard,
watching your ship thrashed between
the waves and weather;
waiting for the searchlights;
don't set off your flare at the first sign,
or you'll lose your S.O.S to the sea.
This floatation device doesn't work
so well anymore, not since you left
with what's left of my wreckage,
and the farther we drift apart,
the more I feel like dying.
Sep 28, 2011
Sep 28, 2011 at 1:58 AM UTC
*Through Prismatic Stairways & Monochromatic Sways,
Under Cinematic Rays,
She Twinkles In Ecstatic Daze,
In Her Promiscuous Silence,
With Spatial Violence,
She Enlivens My Sins In Her Aphrodisiac Vehemence,
Her Fake Plastic Smiles,
Under The Vienna Skies,
In Blank Reflections Under Disguise,
With Her Wings Of Destiny, She Sensationalizes,
With Her Spectral Prayers & Kryptonite Searchlights,
She Rains Her Ethereal Affairs, Painting Satellite Twilights,
Her Effervescent Fantasies,
Orchestrating Crescent Intimacies,
Verses Perpetuating Into Iridescent Complexities,
A Stellar Starlight Dazzling In Stardust,
Like An Astral Butterfly She Flounces In Lusts,
On Her Audiotronic Escapades,
Serenading Under The Symphonic Shades,
She Transmutes Into An Iconic Mermaid.
- 02:32AM*
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 5:05 PM UTC
*Sapphire Eyes Of An Astral Mermaid,
Perpetual Eternities & Her Sundrenched Serenades,
Myriad Odysseys & Spellbound Fairytales,
Veiled In Elysian Elegance Of Her Harmonious Tales,
****** Landscapes & Electric Fire,
Stellar Cloudscapes Of Her Ecstatic Desires,
Spatial Matrix Of An Emerald Queen,
An Ethereal Butterfly Perpetually Serene,
Colored Screenshots & Blue Moon Foundations,
Wrecking Overdose Of Her Summer Seductions,
Synthetic Transformations Of Her Sun Caged Maze,
Interstellar Canvas Painted In Her Galactic Sage,
Searchlights Trapped In Her Floral Vortex,
Eternal Burns Streaming Spectral ***
Supernova Charades & Her Uncharted Palisades,
Dewdrops Verses Drenched In Her Toxic Shades,
Restrained Insanity & Crystal Heartbeats
Stained Perspectives Of Her Intimate Deceits,
Phantasmal Radiance To Her Billion Dreams,
Enigmatic Raves Blossoming Into Epiphanic Realms.
- 05:47 AM -*
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 8:32 PM UTC
The national pride is nullified by the constant buzz of shores
being broken down and beaten with patrol boats
scouring the waves for lame boats carrying
malnourished passengers to a land of plenty.
With searchlights and stern rugged faces
blue uniformed and well fed, border patrol
scout out the weary travellers braving the high seas
and sharks to find a safe heaven in some hidden cove.
Pest control is serious business. Unlucky to be caught
and housed in centres with rationed food and worn clothes
herded into bare camps, often deported back
to home turf, the pest control cycle continues.
Take heed. A nation is built on pests., working hard, saving
every cent, running against the clock, against government agencies, starved and poor, defeated in justice, welfare,
community, papers, education and livelihood, slinking through
alleyways of paper networks, low paid, often beaten and bruised
packed in housing crates, stacked storeys high, nation building
begins at the journeys first step away from regimes too busy amassing wealth and wonder for themselves.
Nation builders are the pests you want. The pests you spend your money to keep away from your own backyard
for a vote for safety.
Pin up a country that did not grow without these
masses of refuge pests?
Not one.
Author Notes
Migrants are nation builders. Check it out.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 2:53 AM UTC
Spaceships flying eternally, beauty lost within our sleep's breadth. Never room, out in to night. With you, machine glow diving
Searchlights clean the monsters. This is a light shower. Man is kind, mankind. Indigo stained glass cathedral dreamscape, lovely.
The girl is trembling by your side what we should not know calmness asked by those whose light shines beyond the cold dark rocks, deeper still, bells toll underwater, asking, begging
Mastodons in the distance? Year zero. Year zilch. Yearly the funds caress my alpine ******* as the budget increases. We dream of drains and hairy ones at that. Massive ketamine high bulges footsteps in the distance.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 1:59 AM UTC
Strobe-lights flashing rhythmic patterns;
alternating red and blue.
Searchlights arcing across the earth;
they will find you.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
Redolence
by Michael R. Burch
Now darkness ponds upon the violet hills;
cicadas sing; the tall elms gently sway;
and night bends near, a deepening shade of gray;
the bass concerto of a bullfrog fills
what silence there once was; globed searchlights play.
Green hanging ferns adorn dark window sills,
all drooping fronds, awaiting morning’s flares;
mosquitoes whine; the lissome moth again
flits like a veiled oud-dancer, and endures
the fumblings of night’s enervate gray rain.
And now the pact of night is made complete;
the air is fresh and cool, washed of the grime
of the city’s ashen breath; and, for a time,
the fragrance of her clings, obscure and sweet.
Published by Poetry Magazine, Poetic Reflections, The New Formalist, Carnelian, Little Brown Poetry, Poetic Ponderings, Poem Kingdom, Net Poetry and Art Competition, The Best of the Eclectic Muse 1989-2003, Romantics Quarterly, Sonnetto Poesia, Poetry Life & Times and Trinacria
Keywords/Tags: Sonnet, night, darkness, violet, hills, rain, fresh, cleansing, fragrance, perfume, clings, clinging, obscure, sweet, concerto, dance, dancer
Mar 16, 2020
Mar 16, 2020 at 11:16 PM UTC
Heat Lightening
by Michael R. Burch
Each night beneath the elms, we never knew
which lights beyond dark hills might stall, advance,
then lurch into strange headbeams tilted up
like searchlights seeking contact in the distance . . .
Quiescent unions . . . thoughts of bliss, of hope . . .
long-dreamt appearances of wished-on stars . . .
like childhood’s long-occluded, nebulous
slow drift of half-formed visions . . . slip and bra . . .
Wan moonlight traced your features, perilous,
in danger of extinction, should your hair
fall softly on my eyes, or should a kiss
cause them to close, or should my fingers dare
to leave off childhood for some new design
of whiter lace, of flesh incarnadine.
NOTE: The title is not a typo but a double entendre. Keywords/Tags: sonnet, rhyme, love, lust, desire, *** petting, necking, parking, date, dating, lovers' lane
Oct 24, 2020
Oct 24, 2020 at 8:34 PM UTC
Johnson, go ahead and holster your weapon:
The threat here is long gone.
My body used to be a temple,
Now it's more like a time bomb.
My words are honest outbreaks,
...My list of fears is long.
And after-hours of outtakes
Lead me to this song...
There are days when I want to be you
Days when I don't want to be, there are
Long nights of lonely reminders
Of what you mean to me.
There are times when I freeze myself to the bed-frame
And convince myself I'm free
And sometimes it seems convincing:
The idea of you leaving.
No. This is not the end, I fear, my love.
No. This is just the tip of the iceberg.
Yes. And when the tears begin to pile up.
I will give you this friendly reminder:
I've dropped all sorts of crutches, I've had all sorts of dreams
I've felt the tension in you when you resented me.
Threw my brain at all my problems and now I'm truly free.
Free to be alone when I don't want to be:
I painted this for you. I painted this for me.
This glass is like a mirror defining unity.
No more shaking heads, just laughing silently...
I won't put out these searchlights.
I love you, still, Dear, E.
Jun 16, 2011
Jun 16, 2011 at 6:56 PM UTC
*Darling,
My heart beats for you
Like the fists of
Policemen outside our door.
They have the
Building surrounded,
Much like our love
In the winter air.
They're in search
For the fugitive
Who stole your heart
Held up for ransom.
Honestly, you still shine
Brighter than every
Beam of searchlights
Peeking through the blinds.
But i'm not just a thief
Lying through his teeth,
So don't let me breathe
The fume that you leave me
To believe is your love.
Just hear me out,
Before the men in blue
Place me in the black and white
With those silver bracelets;
I plead guilty of theft,
So let us ****
The time that we have left
With one last kiss
Before we're split apart,
Because
My love for you
Is a crime that
I'm willing to commit.*
- (A.F)
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 4:46 AM UTC
These buildings have fallen.
This earth is rotten.
Dust devils are really it,
Just a long, deserted highway...
Tumbling.
I miss everything we did, the way we held hands
And clasped legs
And lie there as if we had been married for years
(when I had known you for weeks)
Covered by our safe and stable concrete
Between deep breaths.
Biding our time before we go back out onto the grass
The only grass in the entire world.
We will make fireworks and nuclear explosions
For generations to come
No one will remember our faces after this.
It's perfect.
How I wish you and I could simply fall in love.
Could be pure, could be simple again.
Could love the skin, the subtlety, the grace
Between stepping closer and closer
Trying to delay the touch, delay the kiss.
Then the dance, where our bodies become one.
Let these god forsaken people never, ever know
That these bombs fell for us.
Take these pleasures to the grave.
Curse the day the people know we set off these fireworks.
But if you ever need a lover, and if you are still
Out There...
in this Wasteland...
These searchlights in the sky are for you.
Love, R.
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 5:02 PM UTC
Jimi moans and wails,
the door crashes
as dad arrives
all anger
& growls,
I look up
all a might stunned
beneath the grinning
& rolling,
oh dad
you made it,
& I love you
y'know.
my eyes
like dark voids ...
searchlights,
his face ...
bewildered.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 1:59 PM UTC
I no longer
wear hats
or drink from cups
the eyes of cats
are searchlights
and curiosity
is killing us
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 7:04 PM UTC
All about the geometry,
getting tangled in
her sorcery when the
Angels
want you too.
Muse.
And I use Chanel to attract,
my lips are dry and cracked so
I ladle on some balm,
calm?
nope,
but
I live in hope as most of us do.
The low down on the cosine is a
sign for me to come up and see her
sometime and I've heard that one
before.
These are the searchlights.
Flares that bring night down
and candles to warm Saki.
Back at the Inn
Ingrid
deigns to let me enter and
pin my colours to her mast,
happiness.
That's all a man can ask
unless he's an absolute cad
and although I'm a bounder
I've
never been that bad.
At Andrews,
we are back to the base
counting to ten with
mud on my face,
flying to
Dallas
and all of us
laugh wildly at the child that's
inside of me, but I know he
left years ago and
is still on the
way.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 5:03 PM UTC
Like searchlights in skies,those pretty blue eyes make my days come alive
I arrive at confusion when putting my shoes on to go out and play
wondering if I should stay with you
spend the whole day in wandering through with you the wonder I see in you.
I have the recipe but she makes the dish
I wish
I wished and my wishes came true
if you wished hard too
it could happen to you.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 5:20 AM UTC
True decadence envelops me
(No) Need to breathe
Floating on pillow seas
(No) Need to dream
Searchlights flash on, scanning
For the evidence
That this is real
Thoughts all scattered, brain
Tangled in labyrinths
This I feel
Swept away from the sands
Of experience, into new bliss
Falling down from the tower
I have built, just to start again
On something more beautiful
Grandiose gleaming heart
We create our own constellations
Spirits drawn into the clouds
Bodies burst from the pressure
Gravity pulls the particles
Stardust becomes marvelous
All is filled with light
The heavens birth delight
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 7:40 PM UTC