|01-07-2013, 01:13 PM||#1|
So-Called New-Age(d) Poet
Join Date: Aug 2007
Empty Treasure Chests By The Seashore
[oh my... second lyrics written in a row]
morphing into rust far from the sea.
We’re dreaming of beaches and cries of seagulls;
the salt on our lips mixed with the chemicals
from the shipwrecks we cause from raising the rocks.
And we fought
to keep the paint adherent to the bedroom walls,
but it spotted our pajamas like dandruff
falling from the edges of hair, out of love
with the smell of fish abandoned in the lot.
But when, in early rising embraces,
we contemplate our moonlightened faces
and smile for a while
in a riddled denial
that we’re loving to be where we’re hated
but still stay.
There are millions of ways to be stuck in one place,
and one of it is related to admitting
mistakes to someone who is also living
with the same type of ghost on the pit of the mind.
my stuffy nose and her tresses of algae
buried in the sand, boxed with the unkept pacts
that we signed with tattoos, after we were hexed
for wanting a second youth to be dumb twice.
Making promises like elder couples
while having the safeguard of a soap bubble;
with steps ahead of time,
we will fall in crossed lines
marking the spot where we became rubble,
but we’re still yearning to become seeds.
We’re standing still as a way to stampede
and spread rubble through air,
until we settle where
we’ll grow to become scattered seaweed.
The Cries Of Those Who Stay
May We Change
Children Of The Same Sky
New one: Bluebeard Would Be (Temporarily) Proud
Last edited by seventh_angel : 01-07-2013 at 01:16 PM.