there,
he has done it
to me.
he has framed
my stillborn pauses
in lively silhouettes
the callused cobblestone streets
now sprout
insane anecdotes
the nights come donned
in crumpled sheaves of sleep;
and the days, once grey,
are now stained with hope
my months are no longer about
just changing faces on walls
my journeys no longer about
just counting stars
he stalks me around
and whispers unholy truth
unveiling colorful worlds
erasing my happy ending
i could shout bloody murder;
but how would that resurrect
my dead grey itinerary?
and even if i want to,
tell me-
how does one
hang an apparition
to death?
3 comments:
you are something i must admit....isn't there a limit to the dissections....anything simpler in beauty....or truth has to be naked and ugly and analyzed and weighed for all it is and all it is not....
i wonder....
i also wonder why do i follow the glistening shadows.....
the light should be good enough....
au revoir!
farewell to you too, macbeth! :)
Just a thought - interpretations can be self-indictments...
maybe what was heard, what was understood and what was said are all different things!
Think - if you have returned to check this, that is!
Else light is more than good enough... find your smile & soon! Amen! :)
i did return back...many times....and I agree interpretations r self indictments....
however I wish I had the will to follow the light....
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