hidden by flowers, as couldn't be read in pictures.
Dark and dry a shallow cry for morning to ascend
upon an easter so thick, homely faces etched
home in notches aside my bed upon the wall
who's always cold touch seems less hollow.
"I put my easel by the window
just so that there is something on the other side"
and my fingernails have plastic caught up underneath.
Silence sweats a frigid absence in the winter
leaving me stranded in a waking moment
as if constantly catching glimpses of
a nightmare from which I've just awoken,
always a moment before, in a moment
I was caught catching glimpses of.
I will wake up, still in the middle of the night,
too far from when day had begun or from when it should end,
or I will be awoken by a noise brought in through
the window I don't remember leaving open,
and daylight again;
my every idealized moment is a stale reminder of
its inaccuracy to my_life.
To bring me out of the fog of the night (and into day),
to dance through words and fields passing recognition in a blur, and petals
falling alongside outstretched arms.
If only the rain would freeze while falling
in such a moment of its beauty and the
firmament would let loose our
plagues in such radiant hues and our
truest peers would shake clarity! from the heavens!
and every moment were but an arms length
from the trees blossom
to the night sky
to pull down
the shroud
of stars,
drowning us in their filling absence.
And behind anticipation lies coveted morn!
Again I dance through the night on wisps of memories
lit like the blossoms and culled like candles to last the night,
and never speak until I form your name in waking,
in never sleeping and day dreaming of sleeping
and meaning tenfold the words in every syllable and a love to every line,
and only one that ends each sentence. I
dance through the nights soliloquy just to lavish the background with your name.
Forever will I wait for the curtain to rise.
upon an easter so thick, homely faces etched
home in notches aside my bed upon the wall
who's always cold touch seems less hollow.
"I put my easel by the window
just so that there is something on the other side"
and my fingernails have plastic caught up underneath.
Silence sweats a frigid absence in the winter
leaving me stranded in a waking moment
as if constantly catching glimpses of
a nightmare from which I've just awoken,
always a moment before, in a moment
I was caught catching glimpses of.
I will wake up, still in the middle of the night,
too far from when day had begun or from when it should end,
or I will be awoken by a noise brought in through
the window I don't remember leaving open,
and daylight again;
my every idealized moment is a stale reminder of
its inaccuracy to my_life.
To bring me out of the fog of the night (and into day),
to dance through words and fields passing recognition in a blur, and petals
falling alongside outstretched arms.
If only the rain would freeze while falling
in such a moment of its beauty and the
firmament would let loose our
plagues in such radiant hues and our
truest peers would shake clarity! from the heavens!
and every moment were but an arms length
from the trees blossom
to the night sky
to pull down
the shroud
of stars,
drowning us in their filling absence.
And behind anticipation lies coveted morn!
Again I dance through the night on wisps of memories
lit like the blossoms and culled like candles to last the night,
and never speak until I form your name in waking,
in never sleeping and day dreaming of sleeping
and meaning tenfold the words in every syllable and a love to every line,
and only one that ends each sentence. I
dance through the nights soliloquy just to lavish the background with your name.
Forever will I wait for the curtain to rise.