Take what you get and don't let go, sometimes life won't breathe like us, trapped in the levity we pretend to have just laying together in heart and mind. Never truly noticing the way our hearts beat in tune to the violent sounds on our daily newsreel,
a fleshed and fallen fallacy that follows us through life.
Maybe once we lose our minds we'll take the time to laugh and cry, to listen to the dahlias as they sing their song to morning sky; an operatic essential to life that's ever lost among the daily strife, we wring our hands and make our plans to the beat of the sun above. We take for granted every touch and kiss from parted lips, and find some sweet serenity that dangles from our hips, like silky stained taffeta we fashioned from the shiny magazines we love to live by.
We could see, if we tried, how to live to love, yet still see only saccharine sights set to slide away at the touch of madness. And madness lingers at one's touch, in sense and sight and smell, a madly moaning melody that we blot out with a trust, trusting in the life we hang among the moldy picture books to wither just as well. Pictures of our oldest dreams, fashioned from severity, goals and values set by faith in mediocrity. Now our lives are sorely set for pain and scarcity, a chance to see that life can't breathe without the chance to bleed.
We moan and sigh about the sky when it's dark and gray, we close our eyes to the lives who suffer for our pleas, chances to have sun all day and never say quite why, for when the sky is naught but gray we remember why we cry.
You my dear have something new, suddenly I hear, stop myself right in mid-sigh and clean my ears of fear, and stop to listen to the cries of life before my face, the Dahlias with lovely eyes and ever present years, swaying in the crisp wet wind i lifted with my tears, their simple song a tribute to the life we've strayed from for so long, and take the time to compose my own free-wheeling song.
Someday soon I'll share with them the love of mine for you, and shove the moldy memories to make room for two, and show to you my greatest dream, that of lovely fields, of sweet wild flowers singing soft their love for true pure levity, the kind of height I reach when we are truly left to be, left among the Dahlias to be loved and truly free.
| Great rhythm in this piece, and the rhymes that happened throughout seemed very natural and added a lot to the read. There was great usage of poetic tools throughout.|
All of this lead to a very free-feeling read, which complemented the substance of the writing well.
Thanks for sharing.
|| Posted on 2008-09-16 00:00:00 | by Guermo | [ Reply to This ] |