Monthly Archives: February 2015
Breathing in the mental hunger tasted
By ordinary thoughts created
Memories of what we question
Of what is real and what is a reflection
Or the mental mind stamp of time and place
The pictures drawn to dream
Each moment to catch your attention
Bracing for the next life lesson
Simple happiness simply wasted
The imagination is hated
Painting on a believable face
I descend the staircase
Step after step
Inside of a turret of
Stone and mortar
Shadows dance along
Always by my side
Following the way down
As the light slowly dims and
Then it is extinguished
Darkness consumes sight
My friends of confidence
Of light and dark that
Leave me alone in my silence
Without the echoing cadence
Step after step
Inside of the basement corridors
Of my mind
I woke up from a dream and I lost control
I rubbed the dirt from my eyes
And I see nothing but the night below
And I hear the wind on all sides
I watch the hands on the clock
I slip through the sands of time
Visions blurred, unspoken words
Have I lost my mind?
I find myself so alone
Starring back at everyone
Bodies pass me by
With their empty eyes
I walk with you between these old bones
Among, the crooked rows, of lost and broken stones
Black phantoms marching, their footsteps pass me by
And I hear nothing but the sounds of snow
I watch the spirits rise
The floors are white
Shining the reflection
Into my eyes
The chair is blue
Rusted with age
Probably picked up
on the side of the road
Or given away
Soles of shoe
connect to the
mirroring the ceiling
Sitting down upon
seat in middle of room
With the glittery floor
and single object of
Blue chair scuffs white
floor and rings out an
Echoing scream of
metal scraping tile until
My back is enveloped within the trenches of my mattress
Body’s tensions easing into this nightly intimacy of comfort and safety
Submerged underneath layers upon layers of dreamt wishes
I sink into the bottom as a sleeping fish on the ocean floor
Wishing everyone above Goodnight
There are acceptable phrases to begin particular statements,
The remembered hardships become the sentences that wrench out of gut;
the blood and the intestines pouring out of stomach into a heaping pile of life
Symbolizing the jagged wound opening human flesh to kill all of the hidden spaces of ideas
Metaphorically dying as a sacrifice to the Greatest Masterpiece
She glances left with her bright white eyes and painted lips.
Now head turns to accentuate perspective.
Left arm moves up, next the right.
Now eyes face forward.
Mouth chatters as she walks.
Left foot steps, right steps next.
Hands lift and sway.
Now head tilts up, rosy cheeks round.
Her mouth is open wide but no one can hear a sound.
Now head looks down and her eyes are hidden.
Puppet strings can only do so much