I can't taste them
Though they feed me
And I can't feel them
But they do touch me
I can't stop wondering
What do they really mean?
There's always something hidden
behind them it seems
You've used them for laughter
Amusing fools all these years
But the words are beyond them
Silently filled with fear
You've used them expertly
Certainly well worn
But there's something lurking beneath them
Something unseen has me torn
I imagine it's my own experience
always filling me with fear
I may never know what it is
I may never be able to hear
I seek to understand you
but blocking my own attempts
For if I do cross that barrier
Maybe I'm beyond all help
Strength is never to be found
Only misery and dispair
But listen to all these fools
laughing like they're there
They have no idea, do they?
What your life has been
I certainly can't imagine
what to you it would all mean
But let me extend this welcome
to join me in my madness
You said it so humorously
and still all that sadness
Perhaps I'm projecting
Perhaps I'm already gone
Perhaps this is not about you
but the past that's finally won
And someone will pick up that flag
And carry it through the turmoil
That someone certainly won't mention
how you've crawled through the soil
Humiliated and beaten
but with your head held up high
You've stood the test of time
Always asking why
If no one else will remember
be certain that I will
I will place before them a statue
grotesque and beautiful still
For that is your essence
the way I see it
Sorrow has eaten you lately
and I just can't believe it
Remember your own words
about that which matters the most:
"It's not the lighthearted laughter,
but what gives you a meaning - when all else is toast"
Copynut, Stocken, 2007
Originally posted by stockenI thought you were SWAMPED at work? You are so full of BLEEP! 😛
I can't taste them
Though they feed me
And I can't feel them
But they do touch me
I can't stop wondering
What do they really mean?
There's always something hidden
behind them it seems
You've used them for laughter
Amusing fools all these years
But the words are beyond them
Silently filled with fear
You've used them expertly
Certainly well worn
...[text shortened]... ng - when all else is toast"
[b]Copynut, Stocken, 2007[/b]
Originally posted by stockengee I don't know... I liked the last one , but this is a stretch
I can't taste them
Though they feed me
And I can't feel them
But they do touch me
I can't stop wondering
What do they really mean?
There's always something hidden
behind them it seems
You've used them for laughter
Amusing fools all these years
But the words are beyond them
Silently filled with fear
You've used them expertly
Certainly well worn
...[text shortened]... ng - when all else is toast"
[b]Copynut, Stocken, 2007[/b]
The Beach House
So many summers left stained
at the edge of that kitchen knife.
Mother; or a figure that cast a
motherly shadow
standing placid at the bank
of an elongated silver sink tub.
Her watered-down self-
in control-
reflects a woman
stained upon that house.
And we, like school fish,
swimming in her would-be dishwater,
rest waist-high
submerged with the slow blade;
followed closely by a roughed-red
wooden handle.
Her fingers trace the ridged ripples
left along the cover.
Scales of dried skin compliment
the scars upon her forearms
and inch with dampness
as the water sinks down
into the belly of the room.
El Capitain snaps the soundtrack
of thick sharpened metal into motion
as the quickening tide breaks through
the cornflower curtained glass window,
bleeding into her stripped green eyes.
The scent of cold salt closes the moment,
locked chain-thick behind blue-sided
walls, faded gray.
The tragedy of night blistering at her heels
as a reconciliation with morning fails to
approach just quick enough.
1997 makes the statement
that marks her brain,
“What if I was crazy?...”
Those days the heat engulfed
our lives.
With our bared bodies,
was created a monument of
charred kisses and
a kind of love that we’d
longed to forget.
Plagued with regret,
the whole of that year
had made its way ‘round again.
Enough time to allow a
relapse of emotion.
And we found ourselves
tangled beneath the warm sky,
not daring to breathe
for fear of losing the ability.
-Abigail Rose
Originally posted by Bosse de NageUnfortunately
Break up
normal prose
into
lengths; the
effect is not
unlike poetry
Ordinary bicycle coolheaded snowy fluorescent lamps
That to the highest degree of us habituate
Feature an imbalanced phantom-like statistical distribution
And flip a cheerless greenish yellowish chromaticity
Concerning a elbow room
Distorting colours
Stressing our eyes
And creating a real unpalatable ambience
Originally posted by Nordlyshuh??😕
Unfortunately
Ordinary bicycle coolheaded snowy fluorescent lamps
That to the highest degree of us habituate
Feature an imbalanced phantom-like statistical distribution
And flip a cheerless greenish yellowish chromaticity
Concerning a elbow room
Distorting colours
Stressing our eyes
And creating a real unpalatable ambience