Saturday, May 30, 2009
Segment from a not-so-love letter (A note to your obsession)
I find it silly that you think so highly of your romantic status in my life. I find it hard tp believe that it's okay for you and I to let you pretend like that. Why do we? It's an enevitable pain of revelation. I think, maybe it's for comic relief or, more realistically, avoidance due to desired attention. You appreciate me - and I appreciate that. Thank you. I owe you that. Thank you for helping me find - or in the very least steal - who I am. You have helped me get a foot out of this muck. Thank you for pulling my leg out without even realizing it. I am the unexpected twist on clichés. I am the phone you need totalk into. I am the inspiration for this chapter of your life. The one that you think actually means something. Well, I'm glad you think so. You, with your protruding gums. Those hideous envelopes for teeth. You, my friend, don't have enough letters for it to make any sense. Work on that. Until then ....
Where do We go From here?
Tell your trust you were used.
Never worship with whispers.
We were soaking in the moon,
holding our tongues
and voices
Our vice devoid of reason.
When shall your throat escape the
glistening linger of temptation?
Never worship with whispers.
We were soaking in the moon,
holding our tongues
and voices
Our vice devoid of reason.
When shall your throat escape the
glistening linger of temptation?
The music of tears sounds like ...
The music of Tears sounds like glass shattering
They jump off your cheeks in uneven rhythms,
swarm your face.
blur your vison.
Gradually, they crecendo,
Releasing a streaming symphony that
is accompained by piano pleas:
Why did she have to die ?
They jump off your cheeks in uneven rhythms,
swarm your face.
blur your vison.
Gradually, they crecendo,
Releasing a streaming symphony that
is accompained by piano pleas:
Why did she have to die ?
Examining The Impact Of Rising Friendship (Come on. Look at them)
He was a --
She was an --
I am --
It's so easy, I just --
Good Question . . .
I Never Asked.
A GROWING BODY OF Most Valuable CONFUSION,
that clears the pain and pressure which also inhibits you from
Getting Beyond the splendor of the CROWD.
Navigating through your life.
TAKE ROOT.
Hey You, Focus.
create...
Change. Easy to Easy to Easy to to go.
What are you giving up to keep your Reasons to Love?
I can't imagine.
Loved by Dangerous Addiction,
Throw away everything you know about What Wholeness Tastes Like.
The Challenge =
Should you stay or
Should you go?
Your True Colors are Muted Hues.
The Change: Dramatic.
What It Took: taking on HATE.
The Change: Hard.
What It Took: one chance to impress.
The Change: Being Side by Side Again!
What It Took: Reaching.
[Disclaimer: Individual may vary. (yes, it's that easy.)]
She was an --
I am --
It's so easy, I just --
Good Question . . .
I Never Asked.
A GROWING BODY OF Most Valuable CONFUSION,
that clears the pain and pressure which also inhibits you from
Getting Beyond the splendor of the CROWD.
Navigating through your life.
TAKE ROOT.
Hey You, Focus.
create...
Change. Easy to Easy to Easy to to go.
What are you giving up to keep your Reasons to Love?
I can't imagine.
Loved by Dangerous Addiction,
Throw away everything you know about What Wholeness Tastes Like.
The Challenge =
Should you stay or
Should you go?
Your True Colors are Muted Hues.
The Change: Dramatic.
What It Took: taking on HATE.
The Change: Hard.
What It Took: one chance to impress.
The Change: Being Side by Side Again!
What It Took: Reaching.
[Disclaimer: Individual may vary. (yes, it's that easy.)]
Friday, May 29, 2009
Tailoring Trends
Picture a warm velvet sky,
Feverishly squirming to wake a universe- but never getting close.
Worry about peace,
Slowly streaming in a vast stiff world- but never quite making it.
Picture a warm velvet sky,
Slowly streaming in a vast stiff world- but never quite making it.
Worry about peace,
Feverishly squirming to wake a universe- but never getting close.
Time for change:
not a repeat, a rendition, or a refresh of the rhythm.
Feverishly squirming to wake a universe- but never getting close.
Worry about peace,
Slowly streaming in a vast stiff world- but never quite making it.
Picture a warm velvet sky,
Slowly streaming in a vast stiff world- but never quite making it.
Worry about peace,
Feverishly squirming to wake a universe- but never getting close.
Time for change:
not a repeat, a rendition, or a refresh of the rhythm.
Seven Ways Of Looking At Snow
It cascades down from a gray abyss in icy haste.
The snow rejects you; you are frozen, numb, and abandoned.
Its remains are sporadically dispersed in hardened chunks.
The snow creates an unknown, transparent layer of hazard.
It pushes you into the recess of a cave with solid gusts.
The snow flies in excess, causing sight to be impossible and entrapment inevitable.
It glistens shyly in the morning and the moonlight.
The snow brightly sleeps on the still landscape.
It lays in heavy slabs of languish, forcing you to be the first to budge in this argument.
The snow imposes itself onto your infinite list of chores.
It dances just out of your reach and teases you with tickles on your face.
The snow adds wonder to your day and frees your inner-child, regardless of age.
It swoops down to sweep the atmosphere in its entirety and then dissipates to a dusting.
The snow is unpredictable and I appreciate the flux.
The snow rejects you; you are frozen, numb, and abandoned.
Its remains are sporadically dispersed in hardened chunks.
The snow creates an unknown, transparent layer of hazard.
It pushes you into the recess of a cave with solid gusts.
The snow flies in excess, causing sight to be impossible and entrapment inevitable.
It glistens shyly in the morning and the moonlight.
The snow brightly sleeps on the still landscape.
It lays in heavy slabs of languish, forcing you to be the first to budge in this argument.
The snow imposes itself onto your infinite list of chores.
It dances just out of your reach and teases you with tickles on your face.
The snow adds wonder to your day and frees your inner-child, regardless of age.
It swoops down to sweep the atmosphere in its entirety and then dissipates to a dusting.
The snow is unpredictable and I appreciate the flux.
Midnight Trembles, Twilight Mimicks
Eyes slowly scan the soft suede sky.
The stars wink from their cranberry-colored canvas.
All is still,
except the snow that continues to decend downwards
as your thoughts rise hihger.
Higher, up to where the future tells its secrets.
Higher, where no one can tell you differently.
The stars wink from their cranberry-colored canvas.
All is still,
except the snow that continues to decend downwards
as your thoughts rise hihger.
Higher, up to where the future tells its secrets.
Higher, where no one can tell you differently.
Anxious
Sweat pierces your skin in stinging, icy prickles.
Your face flushes crimson as your fingers fumble on your desk.
Running exhausting laps, your mind falters in what it needs to preform.
These are the symptoms of a nervous student.
Your face flushes crimson as your fingers fumble on your desk.
Running exhausting laps, your mind falters in what it needs to preform.
These are the symptoms of a nervous student.
a blue notebook
Motionless on a bookshelf is a blue notebook,
its pages contain recorded memories of a novel in progress.
It rememebers the writer's ideas in a time when no one else would listen.
Locked in the bottom of a young girl's drawer is a blue notebook,
each line yearning to speak of the secrets kept that never should have been.
It tells of her life journey with silent stillness and slight bias.
Balancing near the edge of a desk is a blue notebook,
heavy with the text of a professor's latest lecture.
Its only desire is to teach its well-prepared insight to eager ears.
Flung on the floor is a blue notebook,
holding nothing but blue horizontal lines and pink vertical stripes
measured neatly on a stark white page.
Its empty leaves call out for attention to fill these spaces.
It imagines you thoughfully tapping your pen on the page,
Planning.....
its pages contain recorded memories of a novel in progress.
It rememebers the writer's ideas in a time when no one else would listen.
Locked in the bottom of a young girl's drawer is a blue notebook,
each line yearning to speak of the secrets kept that never should have been.
It tells of her life journey with silent stillness and slight bias.
Balancing near the edge of a desk is a blue notebook,
heavy with the text of a professor's latest lecture.
Its only desire is to teach its well-prepared insight to eager ears.
Flung on the floor is a blue notebook,
holding nothing but blue horizontal lines and pink vertical stripes
measured neatly on a stark white page.
Its empty leaves call out for attention to fill these spaces.
It imagines you thoughfully tapping your pen on the page,
Planning.....
Surrender Crisis: this agreement, the alternative
Now it's the "silence and invisibility" of crisis,
whose irresponsibility now threatens,
assuring customers.
For now,
the essentials of the crisis have now adopted
this combination of courage and decisiveness.
It hasn't been our own.
The injection of further deterioration
embraced some,
unveiling a denied presence.
The concerns released this secret
and opaque associations.
whose irresponsibility now threatens,
assuring customers.
For now,
the essentials of the crisis have now adopted
this combination of courage and decisiveness.
It hasn't been our own.
The injection of further deterioration
embraced some,
unveiling a denied presence.
The concerns released this secret
and opaque associations.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
A Night Sopping With Sunken Shadows
Sliding into another ashy alley,
Shifting with the shadows,
Rain splattered over his tears.
“HALT!”
Never.
He fled, leaving her pale with a word, pulling on chapped lips: “Aspetti.”
But
he would not
could not.
As he twisted to see the looming pawns of persecution advance behind her,
he hit heavy arms sewn with Swastikas.
Shifting with the shadows,
Rain splattered over his tears.
“HALT!”
Never.
He fled, leaving her pale with a word, pulling on chapped lips: “Aspetti.”
But
he would not
could not.
As he twisted to see the looming pawns of persecution advance behind her,
he hit heavy arms sewn with Swastikas.
Cutting Intentions
“I just have a couple questions,” whispered the shy breeze that opened the door.
“What is it?” I shuddered from the door’s icy breath.
Sunken, glassy eyes looked at me. About to speak - only hindered breaths escaping - she out-stretched her forearm to expose a shaking secret.
Crimson scars on slit porcelain.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“What is it?” I shuddered from the door’s icy breath.
Sunken, glassy eyes looked at me. About to speak - only hindered breaths escaping - she out-stretched her forearm to expose a shaking secret.
Crimson scars on slit porcelain.
“I didn’t mean to.”
I Can Only Hear My Emotion
“Love is like . . . those orange circus candies.”
“The peanuts?”
“Yeah.”
In unison we allowed our assumptions to access our minds.
Those vibrant sponges of sweetness.
“……How?”
He threw me an appalled glance. Then his hands, frantically, began talking.
“They’re . . . empty calories that . . . get stale over time and . . .”
Alas,
I was deafly in love.
“The peanuts?”
“Yeah.”
In unison we allowed our assumptions to access our minds.
Those vibrant sponges of sweetness.
“……How?”
He threw me an appalled glance. Then his hands, frantically, began talking.
“They’re . . . empty calories that . . . get stale over time and . . .”
Alas,
I was deafly in love.
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