Sunday, 10 April 2011
Broken Dreams Club
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.