(no subject)
Time is a pressure on the measure of intermittence between the wholly consuming affliction of grief that crashes into my consciousness.
A complicated sentence for a complicated meaning.
I'm just gonna write a goddamn poem that tries to articulate things.
---
I'm running breathless with the torch you lit,
Taken at it's brightest, from a cold vessel.
It cast a light that shines only where I will it.
Will I?
It feels heavy, Dad, and it aches too.
There are no tears to put it out,
Just the stiff wind of grief.
Will it?
I've flint on the fiery eyes of our Id,
And kindling from a kindred heart.
All I've to do is lay breath into...
But I get choked up.
I look in my hands. It's a goddamn match!
It's cindering my fingers.
If only my burnout stayed outa the sun
And faded away.
---
Time is a prayer made in vain.
A complicated sentence for a complicated meaning.
I'm just gonna write a goddamn poem that tries to articulate things.
---
I'm running breathless with the torch you lit,
Taken at it's brightest, from a cold vessel.
It cast a light that shines only where I will it.
Will I?
It feels heavy, Dad, and it aches too.
There are no tears to put it out,
Just the stiff wind of grief.
Will it?
I've flint on the fiery eyes of our Id,
And kindling from a kindred heart.
All I've to do is lay breath into...
But I get choked up.
I look in my hands. It's a goddamn match!
It's cindering my fingers.
If only my burnout stayed outa the sun
And faded away.
---
Time is a prayer made in vain.