(no subject)
August left the light on,
To the voices.
Those that call her back tonight, being nothing new to her,
They taunt her like they always do with their schedules of consistency.
Groups of them smile one by one while their teeth reflect her blank face
The one erased of color
The dirt she walks is painted in light, and the street lights all in dark
August left the light on.
The trees all painted in their new pale shade
And roads of bright blinding people piled high are nothing but the bush and shrub of the never ending lies.
The doors all open to scenes of life just as her casket door opens to its bed of gold.
Destruction being built is all around and in each lung as she continues, but nothing leaves her mouth.
The women cry at the sight of her, for they know that she is next, it’s only natural since she doesn’t wear its marks.
They lift their bloody hands to her in prayer, and dew of heavens reflection in their eyes melt down their face in fear of what they look above to.
The butchers search the streets with their tools trying to do they best they can, their efforts fail.
The piles now untouchable and bodies still in blockade of drains to swallow the blood now glittering and drying to paved streets.
Shadows disappear, the cold is gone
All eyes are open never to shut, and dust is what is to become of them.
To forever squint through slits of light,
To forever repeat the record
To forever bare its marks
To forever bare its bleeding.
Repeating.
In sheets of sanction she turns to walls and floors with no answers,
Still empty, enslaved in white.
The recording playing over
And
Over
And
Over
When her eyes meet night
And her face meets ground
Her mind greets the present memory…
August left the light on.
July/04--------------------------------------------------
It’s amazing, you know?
How many people you see in a day. How many people you see change before your eyes. How friends wander away from you. How people will NEVER listen, how they will NEVER learn, how they will NEVER forget, ANYTHING, and how some will forget EVERYTHING. How some people are rude, and show nothing but disrespect. How people are ignorant. How people pass things by, and take us all for granted. How people have let things go without a thought and then come crawling back with pleas and admissions of guilt. How people can watch innocence on its dying breath, and not even flinch. How much blood is shed with no motive. With no reasoning, or cause. How many “friends” are friends. How many “enemies” are really enemies. How many things we take seriously. How many people don’t care. How many people lose out on life. How many eyes are closed. How many minds are open. How many people can’t see the truth. How many people have no hope. How many people strangle their ideals, and smother their dreams with pillows at night. How many people live in guilt, with life’s crimson on their hands, and no relief to rid of it. How people are always growing. How they never stop. How nothing is ever ugly. How rare peace is. How many people try too hard to be someone. How hard people fall when they fail miserably at it. How they build so much character when they stand again. How people never sleep. How dreams are always real. How many people are fake. How many people have died. How many have lived. How many have fought. But not many have won?
It’s amazing to live
… and see, and love, and hate, and sleep, and dream, and fall, and rise, and cry, and laugh, and feel, and touch, and scream, and fight, and lose, and win, and hug, and kiss, and care, and crash, and jump, and grow.\
--- oct. 2004----------------------------------------------
Their child counts from 1 to 11 waiting in his place.
He can’t tell when to stop, or when to lift his pressured eyes from against his cold and rigid stance.
They stretch their limbs dipped in deception to pull off the infant hands now dented with infested pieces torn from what he held so tightly.
He’s pushed out into this endless call of noise and silence, and wonder why the walls have given in on him.
He can’t figure out why the voices in his head are there, and why they tell him to run beside his matches and watch the smoke dance.
He doesn’t know where he finds himself at night when the lights are off.
Or why he watches the floor and walls rock up and down in motion with his head.
He tries to stop the children screaming from the ends of the hall, but the sound amplifies as his head turn and rock in their direction.
They smile.
To find that everything this devise created has soaked up all that’s left…
To make every prudent sole lost in the everlasting laughs they breed.
They smile.
- May/04
-----------------------------------------------
something stopped me after these.
lets play a game...
who can interpret them the closest?
comment, let me know...
To the voices.
Those that call her back tonight, being nothing new to her,
They taunt her like they always do with their schedules of consistency.
Groups of them smile one by one while their teeth reflect her blank face
The one erased of color
The dirt she walks is painted in light, and the street lights all in dark
August left the light on.
The trees all painted in their new pale shade
And roads of bright blinding people piled high are nothing but the bush and shrub of the never ending lies.
The doors all open to scenes of life just as her casket door opens to its bed of gold.
Destruction being built is all around and in each lung as she continues, but nothing leaves her mouth.
The women cry at the sight of her, for they know that she is next, it’s only natural since she doesn’t wear its marks.
They lift their bloody hands to her in prayer, and dew of heavens reflection in their eyes melt down their face in fear of what they look above to.
The butchers search the streets with their tools trying to do they best they can, their efforts fail.
The piles now untouchable and bodies still in blockade of drains to swallow the blood now glittering and drying to paved streets.
Shadows disappear, the cold is gone
All eyes are open never to shut, and dust is what is to become of them.
To forever squint through slits of light,
To forever repeat the record
To forever bare its marks
To forever bare its bleeding.
Repeating.
In sheets of sanction she turns to walls and floors with no answers,
Still empty, enslaved in white.
The recording playing over
And
Over
And
Over
When her eyes meet night
And her face meets ground
Her mind greets the present memory…
August left the light on.
July/04--------------------------------------------------
It’s amazing, you know?
How many people you see in a day. How many people you see change before your eyes. How friends wander away from you. How people will NEVER listen, how they will NEVER learn, how they will NEVER forget, ANYTHING, and how some will forget EVERYTHING. How some people are rude, and show nothing but disrespect. How people are ignorant. How people pass things by, and take us all for granted. How people have let things go without a thought and then come crawling back with pleas and admissions of guilt. How people can watch innocence on its dying breath, and not even flinch. How much blood is shed with no motive. With no reasoning, or cause. How many “friends” are friends. How many “enemies” are really enemies. How many things we take seriously. How many people don’t care. How many people lose out on life. How many eyes are closed. How many minds are open. How many people can’t see the truth. How many people have no hope. How many people strangle their ideals, and smother their dreams with pillows at night. How many people live in guilt, with life’s crimson on their hands, and no relief to rid of it. How people are always growing. How they never stop. How nothing is ever ugly. How rare peace is. How many people try too hard to be someone. How hard people fall when they fail miserably at it. How they build so much character when they stand again. How people never sleep. How dreams are always real. How many people are fake. How many people have died. How many have lived. How many have fought. But not many have won?
It’s amazing to live
… and see, and love, and hate, and sleep, and dream, and fall, and rise, and cry, and laugh, and feel, and touch, and scream, and fight, and lose, and win, and hug, and kiss, and care, and crash, and jump, and grow.\
--- oct. 2004----------------------------------------------
Their child counts from 1 to 11 waiting in his place.
He can’t tell when to stop, or when to lift his pressured eyes from against his cold and rigid stance.
They stretch their limbs dipped in deception to pull off the infant hands now dented with infested pieces torn from what he held so tightly.
He’s pushed out into this endless call of noise and silence, and wonder why the walls have given in on him.
He can’t figure out why the voices in his head are there, and why they tell him to run beside his matches and watch the smoke dance.
He doesn’t know where he finds himself at night when the lights are off.
Or why he watches the floor and walls rock up and down in motion with his head.
He tries to stop the children screaming from the ends of the hall, but the sound amplifies as his head turn and rock in their direction.
They smile.
To find that everything this devise created has soaked up all that’s left…
To make every prudent sole lost in the everlasting laughs they breed.
They smile.
- May/04
-----------------------------------------------
something stopped me after these.
lets play a game...
who can interpret them the closest?
comment, let me know...