floathovering as the petals to the wind, waiting as the leaves of change, hang limply upon trees waiting to be blown, which direction will they be taken? which place will this sudden gust take them? will this be their end to mediocrity? or simply the means to a different reality? fickle and undecidedly they lie mid-air, just waiting, waiting, waiting, they wait for that razor brush wind, cutting through what we once knew, cutting through to the new woods of knowing, where caterpillars eat those useless leaves, those poor leaves who refuse change, who stare down chafloat
Hidden seedsSlowly I die, and with every last breath of life i am here, every last second of every last minute, every last hour of every last day, it all brings me here, to the cold sun death of dusk, to the needle prickling south wind, to the very edge of whence i crawled forth, from catastrophe to chaos, from inspirations deep well green and rotting, I am not well, betraying every last step i have made, hang it all, hang my heart before the flames, let them lick from my heart, those last bits of feeling blood, let the charred remnants remain shapelessly deadHidden seeds
In The MirrorI sat back and looked at my heart,In The Mirror
It was on a plate with my soul and they were both bleeding. Then I glanced at my brain,
It was full of holes where my thoughts once were. And in the mirror my eyes were dull and glassy,
My mouth's corners sagged down to meet my expectations,
And the whole face seemed bitter and repressed. I stood up and saw my slouch,
As the weight of the world was dropped on my shoulders. I tried to close my ears to other's problems,
And found that I was already deafened,
By the silence that had surrounded me for so long. So I took up a piece of
LeaveI wish I could balance my heart On the point of a needleLeave
If only I could capture in a ball My teary eyes And pursed lips And large smile And gritted teeth And throw them all into the swirling seas
I wish I didn’t have to sip something Every hour Or eat the beauty and creations of the world
If only I could keep my eyes open And continue to see and watch
I wish I could balance my heart On the point of a needle And then flick it off with my fingers As if it were a fickle fly
If only I could drop all my bones on
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To really ask is to open the door to the whirlwind. The answer may annihilate the question and the questioner.
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