Another Coati'm not much of a painter i blend the colors wrong i lay it on too thick i rarely please a canvas so i try for a thousand words instead i can always write too much on a page can massage a soul with soft rhetoric can knit a paperthin scarf to keep a heart warm can burn away spiderwebs in the heart's vacancies can leave questions in the ashesAnother Coat
someone left a mark in this fertile room back then it grew over time yes a seed became a mural stretched ink tendrils across my vast expanse became faces words blots of color and light everything that makes a heart worth having and it coated my thoughts colored my imagination skewed my percept
Tell me it's half past sixtell me it's half past six, time for day tear-soaked midnight eclipses my will to stand i forfeit to the calendar page, then arise i ask the skies how the day will be the answer comes in heavenly fire rising, hanging, looming in a dull suspension beautiful, albeit obscured by rainclouds. my father told me that God paints the sunrise, the sky His limitless canvas, its view perfection the sun's visage blinding, i must see His face through the sunrise look for Him in the skies, yet can't see past her it's just not sunrise without the light of her face no warmth comes in theTell me it's half past six
Her Passion Lives as Sunset...At first, behold the orange, wry, With yellow tinges, there to try To overcome the evening sky And all its waning blue. At last, the day has gone away-- And then her pink comes out to play. The colors keep the night at bay; She's such a sight to view. Her crimson sets my world ablaze In all her daring, clever ways; She's stunned me with her gleaming rays, My eyes on her are wide. I feel her light upon my chest-- So warm--she puts my soul to rest. I long to fade into the west and hold her by my side. When passion ends and satellite Falls downwHer Passion Lives as Sunset...
I could never write a love...I could never write a love story because I am no protagonist my own life passes me by and I cannot hold on cannot move change define my future I’ve no pen to write it—and my ink runs dry because there is no theme to me there's no true passion no romantic beauty love only lust because she has not touched my heart my muse my angel— I guess I always thought I knew her but she is gone she will not return I am alone and all for lack of a story lack of the will the mechanics rhythm flow beauty— I could not write a love story because I don't know how shI could never write a love...
Que pensez-vous?
Artistic
Thank you ever so much for the watch
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[ Reach For Me ]
--S.S.
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"Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash."
-- Leonard Cohen
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[ Reach For Me ]
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