September 18, 2009

Trying to Forget

She kisses like she’s trying to forget the loveless-ness of the current companionship. Searching in the night and late afternoon for more than what she’s been dealt, but losing herself in it all the same. A weakness reflecting her weak heart as it dares to beat on through little romance she can eek out of him. Strangers are easier and less effort, but in strangers she finds shame, albeit little shame. If he could just wake from his success-chasing stupor maybe he would find her there running in place beside the bed just to keep up with her own dreams. Stagnant. She feels herself and her destination slip sliding away. O to run away to seaside cottages and live in sunlight and dark rooms. O to find the story hidden under the dreariness of today. O to be assured that tomorrow’s promises hold more than what she wishes. It will come full circle when she is least expecting it. For now the waiting must be made worthwhile and forgetfulness cannot be the only solution.

The information's unavailable
To the mortal man
We're working our jobs
Collect our pay
Believe we're gliding down the highway
When in fact we're slip slidin' away

September 11, 2009

What Dreams May Hold

“I think its time to go,” she said, “I think its time to go”
Down rabbit holes and coast-lined roads
“I think its time to go.”

An escape is churning on the mind
As laughter turns to pages
Pages bidding time

What makes you so special?
What makes you so nice?
The words conjure rocking
The word connotates ice

If its childhood games you want to play
This spoon sans plate will run away
I’ll raise you daylight plus recovery
Drink it up my friend, imbibe the revelry

Or rivalry if you will
Jealousy, my chosen sin
Don’t start this game with me old boy
For you will unknowingly not win

A quiet quest as most sins are
Hidden in darkness, nights without a star
I lie alone in crowded bed
The sins and squalor haunt my head

And so she calls once again
“I think its time to leave”
Away to dream of vices old and fresh
A shot of liquor, a heated touch of flesh

“I think its time to go” she shook, “I think its time to go”

The cold rocky asphalt begging for bare feet
The tiny, trapped voice calling its defeat
The wet grassy wasteland cooing at her ear
But swallowing that lump is the only thing she’ll hear

And then the rushing of her dark heart
Boiling red hot in its cage
Only a sly smirk can hide its pulsing rage

A silent secret, secret untold
For it is a mind that is slowly lost
Searching for what dreams may hold.