Monday, 25 April 2011
A tethered kite; did no hand think that all it wanted was to fly away?
Please, please just take me to Lullaby Bay.
The gentle breeze so soft on my face. Feathers of purity. Innocence. Childhood imagination, the kind that still inhabits my mind, sometimes.
Do you see the beautiful ships, the sails full and strong? Instantly ready to carry you away. Take you where troubles do not abide. Let's take the ride alone and all enclosed at once. For in our first step, we join those in want of recovery. They are together. The vikings had such honourable death beds.
Take a trip where they roam freely. Where sound does not have to mean a thing. Specifics are of no importance. Where apathy, comes as a welcome relief not a sin of rule or regulation. There's no need to know where you are going. No time to pretend you care. That's where she walks and I'm longing to follow her.
The place turned my insides out, illuminating light to bones and filling the voids. Chasing the space over crevasses and keeping heads held high over the dizzy plummet. Knowingly awaiting the lonely hours after you go. Absence tears flesh wounds, giving way to oozing punishment, the sign of a job well done and all that is left; a guilt ridden skeleton. Did she do it all for me? Or was it my undoing to idly agree and complete the jumbled jigsaw that Beauty so wanted me to piece together?
We see others looking lost and feel guilty knowing we're not alone. Jealous that their pain could be greater than our own. How to speak words teeming with heartfelt sentiment from a muscle of stone. Becoming statuesque; stood still, with a beating heart. Yearning for more. Waiting for an eternity to end, no words to pass barren lips. Cold to the touch, through Insanity's inflicted illness. Innocent evil, accused of a guilty verdict once again.
Who does the fighting anymore? It'd just be like praising St. Jude.
I'm in pursuit of; "what did I do?"
Repetition inevitable, as if it is a formula to the answer.
I want to go where the rain falls fantastic.
I need to feel something take over. The rain on my near bones.
The sun will shine low there and despite this, you'll keep me close.
A kite with a tethered string. You caught it. Pulled me back down. Why?
Today, I am sad. Fall back into the lullaby.
Close your eyes and whisper. It's not that far, by the boats with their sails.
I want to live in a house on the hill side. Enclosed and secret.
We'll have bone china for the teapot and cups full of green tea, the plates left always empty, more pretty as bare bone.
Take me to Hushabye Mountain.
Sunday, 10 April 2011
The sun is rising on the curtain's side. Outside all is stirring from a slumber so peaceful. Perpetual darkness fills the introverted canvas. She turns, almost in slow motion to the coming of the windstorm. Is it dancing by Night or in Day's shadow? How it is to wonder and to weep at the insistence of Beauty and her terrifying charm. Sweet is the seductress that caused all this twisted anguish. What the trance represents may never be known. At least not to the experts. Nor the ones who care too deeply. The sounds of birds, it's not bird song. It is their call. It's time to go with them, soar higher than ever before. Be light as a feather. Climb aboard and feel the wind on your face. The first breath of real fresh air, inhaling deeply. A sigh, eyes closed. This is what freedom must really feel like. Making wishes on the scales. Put little people to bed. This dream is way past their bed time. She's waking up to green eyes. The crinkle of a tired smile. Filling the room, pressing at the edges of the blueprint, her heart too? An embrace for the evening turns into a morning acquaintance. Manners or love. They were one in the same at that very moment. He sees the honey in the cascades from the blinds, while she sees a starry sky with clouds circling, threatening to block out their beaming smiles. He's pointing out the flaws, in an attempt to glorify imperfection. Hands clasped so tightly. Reiterating the importance. The harp that infers feelings of the heart playing a gentle melody. Constantly on the verge of an unidentified, abrupt impasse. Too soon the morning was over.
Waking up from the dream was the first moment sleep took a hold on. Red tension. Marks made. Gripped so tightly, it would be sure to never let go. Tentative steps. Where I'm treading, I'd love the time not to exist. They'll fly away together. Willing love to die. Sitting for hours in silent stare. I daren't give you the sublime satisfaction. How, is cunning.
You broke me.