What was said was an anthem screamed into heaven,
interpreted by wanton devils
wandering mundus, seeking revelation
and creating their own pastel masterpieces...
It's your voice that whispers in the night—
coming from the walls, from my mind,
constant as shadows lengthen around me
and everything else fades to grey...
Sensation in shadow is this intoxication
breathing in the vapors together
and watching the walls turn to rivers flowing away...
I lay down finally among brambles
and found my shadow already there
bleeding from an open vein...
In halls of white we walk
imprisoned here by the gaze of dead faces...
I remember you and I out wondering what ocean that was
We opened a bottle, ready to toast death
And out poured starlight with no end
So we caught it in our glasses and drank...
They sewed my mouth shut and left me here
With nothing but a view of distant mountains
Out of my little barred window
And I’m screaming but the thread won’t break...
Speak to me in secret tongues, you wanderer of twilight worlds
Stolen words you gave to me as treasure maps
Drawn in disappearing ink beneath my skin...
#poetry #writing #space
I sat with my ear to the wall
Listening to all the things you never said
While the sound of your heat pulsed
Across a distance lost to the wild road...
I saw the world come pouring through the window
And fall exhausted on empty canvas
Guided by the hand of a wayward spirit...
Voices scream out in pain, and the crowd cheers
Begging for more insight into torment
Give us a taste of that world of hellfire
Cut us open with the same knife that slit your wrists...
Is it strange that we living beingsSearch for meaning on silver screens?Or that we scan ink spots printed neatly on paperTo find the truth of our existence?Until I wrote these questions, I didn’t know.Now, my answer is no.Each one of us contains some piece of the truth.Small or large, dim or bright, quiet or deafeningThe… Continue reading There May Be Something to This Writing Thing After All