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an emptiness. perhaps it's a realisation to want the holy.
to feel the holy. as if this conundrum can exist and i can be mercurial
in my hope, my dreams, my fire, my passion to be; oh, just to be
and forget. that there is anger in my words to you and to that other you
transposed to forgiveness, transmuted to light and the thought
i should know what it means to destroy this hollowness.
i miss you.
Lamentations for the weary, this is my home
Right now, this aching need
to be at once quiet and joyful, the essence of the colour of dance
and shadow, the breathlessness of a sunset between lovers
who meet once a month to bind themselves to each other
Like birds over a dustbath, like birds who roost on my roof, oblivious
to time and how I always wake up at 5 a.m., never getting out of bed
until 6, always tired, always an inch away from sleeping in
Or sleeping forever, however many times we both dream of this
this is not full circle, green and sometimes grey, blue and sometimes
amber trapped in a necklace you should be wearing, to
That everything needs a reminder to forget.
| And this mind moves|
at light speed foolishly
fondling every "what if"
trying to find the comfortable "was"
|| Posted on 2013-12-19 00:00:00 | by rws | [ Reply to This ] |