Stare at me
Are there enough poison?
As we both fell inside
That bottomless abyss
Slitting our hearts
But piece by piece
You have to mold it again
There's always a time for the cycle
As we hatched
There was pain outside
Taking us away from wombs
And saying "There you go,
Heat yourself among cold wind"
Listening to the cycle
But there's a dark veil
Fading some senses
The struggle of the heart
A colloid of emotions, colors and release
But why the path is so hard to follow?
Haunting close to you
The sound of tears can't be heard
Are your eyes dry?
Or what's the point of suicide
When you are already dead?
The mirage in the glass
Can you hear the moon moves
The clouds
The stones
And tell me why am I here?
One hand touching the rays of light
The other wants to grasp your voice
And there is no scream but a shadow showing up
Do you like it?
My eyes on your shape
Pale skin
As monochrome as your feelings
But avoiding it there are tones
Tones building a path
Between your closed line
And a teardrop to the bushes
Salty, bitter, sweet, doesn't matter
No one else appears
Do you have to scream now?
Pierce my ears, then
The dirt and some crickets
Worms and probably an owl
Witnesses
I'm standing
Willing
Your grief
Are you asking for too much?
Or does the piano not sound?
The strings are wet from you now
You've got only yourself to blame this time
Should we leave now?
There's a Venetian crystal cup
I want to share its wine
I'll draw you the plains
Clouds among us
Let's make a song
Our life as drums
Entangle our strings
Touch me once and get lost
But lost in the forge
Wither me with your colors
And make me listen your song
I'm going to draw my name in your core
Should I believe anymore?
Kneeling like a supplicant
The sound has no echo
As my eyes can't see
Thin view
Only you can be seen
Songs are not enough this time
But calm me down with the whisper
Weightless
Speechless
Just touch me on my belief
Do you feel those screams?
Fade me with the light
Until we hurt out of life
And turn this curse
Into the angelical praise
The vows from this Moth to the cherished Butterfly
---Not mine...I wish it was..I love his poems..but they always make me cry....*listens to butterfly*
 Naoko Shibasawa · Mon Aug 04, 2008 @ 12:08pm · 0 Comments |
