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Old 01-28-2013, 12:46 AM   #1
So-Called New-Age(d) Poet
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Join Date: Aug 2007

Another song; I've been in the mood for songwriting lately. I may be back to poetry anytime soon.

Iím trying to hold back these arabian beats.
Iím trying to hold back
and I canít get on track at this sudden abyss.
Iím trying to hold back
the hair on my forearm bristling;
itís making way to a polyrhythmic heartbeat
that struts almightily Ďcross chicken skin
to the soundtrack of coughs looped off pitch.

Iím trying to hold back these clenched fists
and biting my knuckles Ďtil my gums bleed.
I roll my eyes until I see my neurons,
as they are painting black all the white swans
swimming on my veins in a rushed waltz
and charging my pulse in relentless assaults;
and, even though my voice may sound soft,
they focus all urges to rip your clothes off.

Youíll end up waking up somewhere in a trench.
(a battlefield never made that much sense)
Flying carpets are lined like warplanes
in skies where you have momentarily reigned
to see that your belongings are now spoils.
Youíre still lost while your memories recoil
to one thousand and one nights succumbing
to unbecoming sheets with poisoned sweat.

Iím trying to hold back.

Last edited by seventh_angel : 01-30-2013 at 10:06 PM.
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