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Old 12-09-2013, 01:50 PM   #1
hippieboy444
Registered User
 
Join Date: Apr 2006
quiet

Ďwhat they call resignation is confirmed despair.í

iíve finally reconciled myself to your bitter heart:
once more,
i stand neck deep in a rip tide
tasting salt water and itís familiar sweetness

not waving but drowning

you make me feel like this is what i deserve:
like i was never good enough to plant two feet
in the soft sands
and just hold your small lonesome hands
and just watch your hair in the wind

and smile.

i wonder where bad decisions go,
if they push up volcanoes and erase entire cities
dissolving people and memory
spreading their red pain with indifference
and yet
with precision.

i am packing these things
once again,
my palms heavy with the song of sadness
of loneliness;
it feels just like home
it feels just like me

to be waving and drowning
to be second best
to be smoldering in the lava-flow
tottering on the stumps of my knees;

with a million things in my mind
flickering on and off like fireflies,
too quick to catch.

i am the fading image of pompeii in a textbook,
academic and uninteresting;
i am the quiet that falls over the entire city as it snows;
i am the inflamed sores of memory
that never callus or heal, but only fester;
i am the last person on earth calling out your name

i am the last taste of sand when youíre pressed to the oceanís floor, caught in a wave

gasping for air;
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wild blue yonder
lit
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Old 12-15-2013, 06:05 PM   #2
doubtfulsalmon
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Join Date: Jan 2011
I'm sad this hasn't got more attention. The building repetition to the concluding line was like an emotional cliff. I wasn't such a fan of "i am the last person on earth calling out your name", I don't think it's an individual enough image for this piece.
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Old 12-15-2013, 11:30 PM   #3
hippieboy444
Registered User
 
Join Date: Apr 2006
i ended up revising this quite a bit:

Quote:
Ďwhat they call resignation is confirmed despair.í

iíve finally reconciled myself to your bitter heart:
once more,
i stand neck deep in a rip tide
swallowing salt water
tasting itís familiar sweetness

not waving but drowning

you make me feel like this is what i deserve:
like i was never light enough to plant two feet
in the soft sands without floating away
grasping aimlessly for your hand
to hold me static in this thin atmosphere
gasping for breaths that only make my chest concave.

the sight of your sighing face looking over your shoulder
leaves a lasting impression echoing in the ghost town of my youth.

it feels familiar: and yet
i still wonder where the bad decisions go,
if they push up volcanoes and erase entire cities
dissolving people and memory
spreading their red pain with indifference
and with precision.

i am slowly learning how to leave;
once again,
my palms heavy with the song of sadness
as i fold away the titled pictures from this time;
and it feels just like home.

it feels just like me

to be waving and drowning
to be floating away
to be smoldering in the lava-flow
tottering on the stumps of my knees

a million things in my mind
flickering on and off like fireflies,
too quick to catch.

i am the faded rendering of pompeii in a textbook;
i am the quiet that falls over the entire city when it snows;
i am the inflamed sores of memory
that never callus or heal, but only fester;
i am the brittle volcanic rock, porous beneath your feet
and empty with endless ancestry.


i am the last mouthful of sand when youíre pressed to the oceanís floor,
caught in a wave

gasping for air;
__________________
wild blue yonder
lit
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