Saturday, January 22, 2011

stuck? or, just listen?

hot liquid, from a tall ceramic vase.
poppy fields and blundered skies create this euphoric moment,
where the war has since long been dead, and cotton soars through the old forests of the world.
but the truth in deciphering  snowfall and a midsummer's cotton is daftly blurred.


the present tense of looking beyond words, beyond the formalities can really get to a guy. and so he sits among the ash and oak, wafting in the swarm of lilac and fog, waiting and basking in the sun on a plain red blanket amidst a meadow of stars and dandelions. galaxies were here, love stories of broken people, rambunctious students and their fifths of whiskey, all faded memories that got boxed up and stored in the attic of adolescence. there shouldn't be any kind of dewey decimal system in categorizing thoughts with emotion- because something happens in correlation with a feeling, doesn't at all mean that feeling initiates a thought process of logic.

it just comes to down to sonar, fireflies and hoping for a warm bed with an ever pressing dream. a vision that outlives and grows past one's life. so many people all trying to do the same thing, and one looks better than the other when it's so small, but you back up, we're all the same make up-from dust we come and dust we'll go. regenerate or not, life is but a breath. regret or not, life is not a joke. serious or not, life is beautiful. and just like puffy clouds on a calm evening, the ones that soak in the last sun rays of today, so i know that i'll fly away just like that cloud, but I want everything to soak in and display the light of the son.

#thenumberfortytwo #poempluslife #rippedupmaps

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