Journal: softly
-------------------------------------------Mood: Lonely
the sky is a black shroud, a manifesto portraying the meaning of a thousand lives.
I can no longer see the stars. That's the first thing that really matters--the only thing, maybe. The lights above my head fluoresce--
white on grey on black, creating a field behind which hide the stars
the pavement, concrete, coarse beneath my feet
held still again by a glimpse of something less
why do we try to hide the stars? create as centers of our existence places into which we can flee during the trifling hours
which our ancestors spent wondering -wandering- over the infinite distances
centers of what? manufactured goddesses throwing off their--
no.
no.
stuck between two artificial words, a silent silence held between my lips
and the others laugh, noticing nothing--trifling
why do I hide my stars?
those flames between which I could wander--lose myself--
hidden by artificial--
love always
...Created 2006-01-30 22:50:54 [ View Past Journals ] [ View as Blog ] |
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