10 November 2008
shall i watch the splendor of life flowing out your veins and weep?
to see and not feel is as sad as dying
Lying together in this hollow and empty space in your heart
I hear no heartbeat, I smell no sweetness
Wo/Man, as a being- I hear no thoughts from you
you wander away from every living soul
You find your own solace, in the pits of nothingness
you cry not, not for anyone, not even for me
rationalizing the existence of this absurdity
as you call it-- ridiculousness of ideas
Yes, walk away.
leave behind the destruction from your storm
like footprints firmly embedded on the beach
on the sands of time, the sand that is the epitome of my heart
like niches you left it hollow and empty
will it ever be filled with a saint's statue?
I fear the daylight, the brightness of a fake sun
masquerading the depression and empowerment
of the dark looming force yearning to be unleashed
dim lights turning off on the street.
Yes, that is my avenue.
You rejoice in the freedom from your chains
your chains...whose cell?
The sentence you say was dreadful, more dreadful
than death itself...so you're elated
whispers happiness from incarceration
from the gas chambers...my heart
Cobwebs formed, furnitures gathered dust,
the President no longer inhabits the palace
Tides have washed away sandcastles and sandangels
Trees have bloomed and bore fruit and lost leaves and bloomed again
I am writing...again...and still...
I have written about the neighbor's cat dying
it's wails and hardships as it breathes through
a painfully crushed body.
I have written about a traveler's plight
from one orange bus to a green one, then another
windowfull agent flying owning the streets
then to a three wheeled blue-roaring motor,
stopping to a two-storey wooden structure
-a house devoid of life...
I have written, spoken, moved and slept
I have been in and out of mystery, and shadows
cover my existence
I have been to the future and back...
why do i long for the past?
I ache like a desert flower in the absence of rain
Yet I thrive like a cactus in the oasis of my insipid thoughts
My niche is still empty of a worthy Saint...
to see and not feel is as sad as dying
Lying together in this hollow and empty space in your heart
I hear no heartbeat, I smell no sweetness
Wo/Man, as a being- I hear no thoughts from you
you wander away from every living soul
You find your own solace, in the pits of nothingness
you cry not, not for anyone, not even for me
rationalizing the existence of this absurdity
as you call it-- ridiculousness of ideas
Yes, walk away.
leave behind the destruction from your storm
like footprints firmly embedded on the beach
on the sands of time, the sand that is the epitome of my heart
like niches you left it hollow and empty
will it ever be filled with a saint's statue?
I fear the daylight, the brightness of a fake sun
masquerading the depression and empowerment
of the dark looming force yearning to be unleashed
dim lights turning off on the street.
Yes, that is my avenue.
You rejoice in the freedom from your chains
your chains...whose cell?
The sentence you say was dreadful, more dreadful
than death itself...so you're elated
whispers happiness from incarceration
from the gas chambers...my heart
Cobwebs formed, furnitures gathered dust,
the President no longer inhabits the palace
Tides have washed away sandcastles and sandangels
Trees have bloomed and bore fruit and lost leaves and bloomed again
I am writing...again...and still...
I have written about the neighbor's cat dying
it's wails and hardships as it breathes through
a painfully crushed body.
I have written about a traveler's plight
from one orange bus to a green one, then another
windowfull agent flying owning the streets
then to a three wheeled blue-roaring motor,
stopping to a two-storey wooden structure
-a house devoid of life...
I have written, spoken, moved and slept
I have been in and out of mystery, and shadows
cover my existence
I have been to the future and back...
why do i long for the past?
I ache like a desert flower in the absence of rain
Yet I thrive like a cactus in the oasis of my insipid thoughts
My niche is still empty of a worthy Saint...
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