words. words. words.
how they tire me so.
letters embracing each other into syllables, syntax, sentences...
silent, voiceless little characters.
colorless and lifeless mirages.
you can stare into them, yet they remain
lines perched upon a white sheet.
like grave stones.
like grave stones.
above the dead man.
a hollowed one, a box full of bones
they are only a little, worn out postcard with scribbled ink
soaked up into a photograph
of a distant land
a whirlwind of emotion.
yet in these moments its my only means,
as weak as it seems
to yank out the roaring waters within and push them into an understanding
other than just my own.
for behind these lonely eyes is a circus of reds and yellows
shrieks and swirling MOTTTTIOOOOONNNNN
of hands that have touched, or held, or touched
melodies. backed by symphonies.
strings swelling as my heart, dressed up as a simple, blonde girl
flings herself to and fro like a rag doll
liberated because something within caught a
GLIMPSE of a man named Invisible
a lion roaring in the darkness, and the resounding
sound of passion splatters light
into a once blind heart.
there are visionsssss put on display behind eyelids, that have the
power to burn into a soul
harder, faster, gentler than any embrace found on the outside.
it is wonder.
and it's more than a w-o-n-d-e-r.
it's REALITY because this is touching the hem of LOVE.
which never fades away - when the avalanche of the throne of God
collides into this black abyss we call life.
love shall remain.
and this love that haunts the screen of my spirit is a
rushing waterfall of divinity and fire and screams of
all the abandonments that were worth it, all the trades of petty trinkets for strings and strings and strings of gold,
this is more than i knew i was stepping into
this is more than i was ready for
this is more than this weak one can handle
barred by time, time, time.
skin, skin, skin.
this unglorified being
that rattles the cage of now.
longing plagues this prisoner of hope
for then. when i will see the eyes of flaming fire.
and all this overwhelming beauty that has wounded me and left me mourning for
all of these rhythms and beats dancing to the colors of morning fading
into night, night, darkness of waiting. waiting. waiting, the great epic
drama locked in by my skin and bones,
singing to me from within... will be set free.
that is when i can do away with these WORDS. words. words.
and paint the harmonies of what i see, feel, live in...
hidden from the outside.
far away from any others.
for now this postcard of letters is all i have. all i have. all i have
to threaten the accusations before my eyes. to throw rejections at the
luxurious invitation of self-pity. to keep the chains of despair from
crawling back up to my neck.
and so words will be my drug to appease this season of
and to that the choruses sing, "amen&amen."