Post by oxobleachoxo on Aug 29, 2005 1:58:18 GMT -5
With a Puff of Smoke.
(The Vanishing Portrait)
He perched upon my shoulder like a shadow of dust,
A reoccurring vision that slept within the corner of my dreary eyes;
His voice is the voice of winds that sweep the highest mountains,
And render them barren with a blow from bruised lips and dried lungs.
He swore casually as if----
His words were the very act of war
I dreamt of shores soaked with the wreckage of hurricanes long lost in Idaho.
Currents that fell idle when confronted with the stillness of space;
The stars lulled these lost particles with the promise of sleep---
The promise of a subconscious existence;
As instinctive as the first gasp without the expectancy of the last.
I shook as the words slithered into my bones.
His silhouette kept my heart tangled and snared, restrained by thorns.
His mouth moved with the languid grace of the dying,
All heavy sighs full of missed moments and the memories of those once felt.
Darkness spread as thick as a threat uttered by the desperate,
And left me alongside those sloping hills of muddied discontent.
Where I could breathe and hold my breath;
Until I too,
Fell victim to the siren stars.
and another!
The gaps between Atheism and Adolescent Star Gazing.
How freeing is it to,
Allow yourself a glimpse of what is extraordinarily placed within the ordinary?
I can vaguely create an apocalyptic wash;
Of oddly shaped and darkened harrowing moments,
The words hang above my head.
But;
Sleep finds me an unwilling participant.
I’d much rather spend my time,
Fetching the withered silhouettes who occupy my walls,
And inquire as to why they refuse to pay rent.
He who speaks loudly often finds a death ear.
Oh, the window is as soft as the beat of sunlight against her skin,
She thumbs through the pages of wanderers who find themselves
Captivated by her disillusioning abilities.
She’s a liar, this one is.
Alas,
Caught between zero and nine,
One can find safety in numbers.
As all good things inevitably come to an end,
The stars appear silent in their magnificence,
Seemingly unaware of their
Significance;
To the spectators who travel at the speed of night.
Comment if you want. I'm always looking for feedback
(The Vanishing Portrait)
He perched upon my shoulder like a shadow of dust,
A reoccurring vision that slept within the corner of my dreary eyes;
His voice is the voice of winds that sweep the highest mountains,
And render them barren with a blow from bruised lips and dried lungs.
He swore casually as if----
His words were the very act of war
I dreamt of shores soaked with the wreckage of hurricanes long lost in Idaho.
Currents that fell idle when confronted with the stillness of space;
The stars lulled these lost particles with the promise of sleep---
The promise of a subconscious existence;
As instinctive as the first gasp without the expectancy of the last.
I shook as the words slithered into my bones.
His silhouette kept my heart tangled and snared, restrained by thorns.
His mouth moved with the languid grace of the dying,
All heavy sighs full of missed moments and the memories of those once felt.
Darkness spread as thick as a threat uttered by the desperate,
And left me alongside those sloping hills of muddied discontent.
Where I could breathe and hold my breath;
Until I too,
Fell victim to the siren stars.
and another!
The gaps between Atheism and Adolescent Star Gazing.
How freeing is it to,
Allow yourself a glimpse of what is extraordinarily placed within the ordinary?
I can vaguely create an apocalyptic wash;
Of oddly shaped and darkened harrowing moments,
The words hang above my head.
But;
Sleep finds me an unwilling participant.
I’d much rather spend my time,
Fetching the withered silhouettes who occupy my walls,
And inquire as to why they refuse to pay rent.
He who speaks loudly often finds a death ear.
Oh, the window is as soft as the beat of sunlight against her skin,
She thumbs through the pages of wanderers who find themselves
Captivated by her disillusioning abilities.
She’s a liar, this one is.
Alas,
Caught between zero and nine,
One can find safety in numbers.
As all good things inevitably come to an end,
The stars appear silent in their magnificence,
Seemingly unaware of their
Significance;
To the spectators who travel at the speed of night.
Comment if you want. I'm always looking for feedback
