(no subject)
(c) Jan Rosenberg 2004
'Untitled'
I'm lying right beside you
Yet you see right through me
Fixated on the splattered peeling pastel butterflies on the wall behind me like a Michael Angelo painting
Droplets of paint falling down on the canvas like rain
With each drop, a minute passes
A day
A month
A year
Forever your arms limply embracing me
Lips moving, words incoherent
Eyes staring, but not seeing
Or not wanting to see.
Looking beyond the wall, barricading your view of the life buzzing outside
You gaze.
You yearn.
Eyes full with envy
Empty of spirit
A hollow cookie-cutter form of what was once filled with life and song
Now shackled down by imaginary chains of deafeated hopes and dreams
And I am the holder of the key
We sit in silence.
We stare blankly.
Night falls.
We wait.
'Untitled'
I'm lying right beside you
Yet you see right through me
Fixated on the splattered peeling pastel butterflies on the wall behind me like a Michael Angelo painting
Droplets of paint falling down on the canvas like rain
With each drop, a minute passes
A day
A month
A year
Forever your arms limply embracing me
Lips moving, words incoherent
Eyes staring, but not seeing
Or not wanting to see.
Looking beyond the wall, barricading your view of the life buzzing outside
You gaze.
You yearn.
Eyes full with envy
Empty of spirit
A hollow cookie-cutter form of what was once filled with life and song
Now shackled down by imaginary chains of deafeated hopes and dreams
And I am the holder of the key
We sit in silence.
We stare blankly.
Night falls.
We wait.