(no subject)
Redemption
Often I imagine your words
Quiver like that of a caged bird
The flap and suffering framed
On scrap papers that trace the contour of your mind
Like some song-less soliloquy
For the fortune of something familiar,
Onto your dog-eared wings
And I arrogantly wonder if ever I arrive to you
As a wall, the beginning of a nagging war
You can’t help but surrender to
Or perhaps the bemused presence
Is the storm that keeps you
Between the capacity of ruin
Where I can hold your hurricane tongue
And beg it write and stay for me
As my vicarious eye
But fortunately you are beyond these things
These tangible creations of life
That corrupted us before we left the womb
Instead, you are your own echo
You’re the sound we hear when your pen flies
And I see the alphabet that carries you
On top of canyons you’ve never seen
I realize then, I’m not worthy to catch you
I’ve fallen there before
My words dead like a motherless child
Because our crypts must become another’s reward
So I step outside and speculate when it was
That language was born into you
It is this thing that flies through you
Like the night before a romantic death
When every sound becomes a primitive orchestra
Played by your palms innocently outstretched to heaven
I stand alive beside my death
For I know you will continue to write in the fluttering darkness
And all I’ll ever read is the light you’ve given me,
the light you don’t know that surrounds you
Often I imagine your words
Quiver like that of a caged bird
The flap and suffering framed
On scrap papers that trace the contour of your mind
Like some song-less soliloquy
For the fortune of something familiar,
Onto your dog-eared wings
And I arrogantly wonder if ever I arrive to you
As a wall, the beginning of a nagging war
You can’t help but surrender to
Or perhaps the bemused presence
Is the storm that keeps you
Between the capacity of ruin
Where I can hold your hurricane tongue
And beg it write and stay for me
As my vicarious eye
But fortunately you are beyond these things
These tangible creations of life
That corrupted us before we left the womb
Instead, you are your own echo
You’re the sound we hear when your pen flies
And I see the alphabet that carries you
On top of canyons you’ve never seen
I realize then, I’m not worthy to catch you
I’ve fallen there before
My words dead like a motherless child
Because our crypts must become another’s reward
So I step outside and speculate when it was
That language was born into you
It is this thing that flies through you
Like the night before a romantic death
When every sound becomes a primitive orchestra
Played by your palms innocently outstretched to heaven
I stand alive beside my death
For I know you will continue to write in the fluttering darkness
And all I’ll ever read is the light you’ve given me,
the light you don’t know that surrounds you