structured language
phrased
to hear
fragments
of imagination
skip from mind
to lip
inner influences
driven forth
compelled
by
human breath
expelled
fresh enigmas
once
obscure crystallized
where
indentions pause
words
to say
a process
caught by day
a one-off
as is
twixt
you&I
a mayfly moment
immediate
ethereal
passing near
intoned
a dead object
til
it cadence
hits the ear
Isn't it funny how indentions work,
the slight indentation of the skin,
a simple red mark fading away after a few still, tranquil moments.
But how bittersweetly the indention on bone leaves a everlasting impact upon the structure. Will I one day dig deep into the depths of this world and scribe upon them my name,
or will I remain a walking collection of ash,
leaving faded footprints in the fell of the world,
Simply waiting for the winds of change to overcome,
and sweep me away,
forgotten among the sands of time,
and lost everlast for all eternity.
clawing intentions
thawing indentions
spinal cord snapped
back stab
face lifting
turn around face the stabs
what away jade me mental
skull boundaries lobotomies
holes
fresh air deepening
seeping through nostrils
cold war aroma induces coma
my time to go has come
who are them peoples
go mad later
go yourself
nevermind
climb another day
?
Her jacket softly brushed against itself,
Painted a soft dull green,
Her hair hid under her knitted woven hat,
Showing the lower lobe of her ears,
Where her earrings matched her bright white smile,
A joyous occusion,
To see her smile,
Her eyes peeked through the clear lens of her thick black glasses,
I can't help but think,
Anything else would be an understatement,
Would I think the same thing,
Through someone else's eyes,
Such music,
The way her voice vocalized,
The indentions left in her cheeks,
Her skin wore a radiant brown,
Beautiful in color,
Her blush shown red as her cheeks could go no higher,
Her smile stretched comfortably across her face,
Leaving more to the imagination,
If I gave my eyes to someone else,
Would they see the same as I saw,
No longer blind as I felt I could be myself,
No longer a pebble in the sea of her eye
The mad masquerade is a vile and venomous and villianous thing
Masks in front hide bad beasts within...while wearing their smiles and their innocent
grins
Thoughts and ideas turn into iniquity and sin
Held together with needles and pins...their false facades start to rip and tear
Best beware as truth starts to win
The mad masquerade is nearing its end
Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light...confusing and confounding...
Making wrong seem right
Sweating as time slips away like snakes in swamplands
It slips through his fingers like grains of invisible sand
Deceiving and devouring every single soul he can
The mad masquerade is his last and final stand
Disguises,devices and insanity inventions...in the name of medicine,man,and science
they make deep and dark indentions
With evil intentions the masquerade keeps marching on
They're leading to perdition as the band plays on and on and on...
But soon the lightning flashes from the east into the west and their masks all burst
into flames
God watches and He waits...truth kills the lie like torches in the night
Tick tock the clock stops on a dime
The mad masquerade is running out of time
I felt the vibe radiate from your body language the night before.
I knew it was too late as I opened your unlocked apartment door!
The carpet still showed indentions of furniture that had once been there.
Bare walls showed off white dimensions of picture frames that once hung there.
I said a silent prayer, hoping you left something behind.
Not one piece of furniture anywhere, and I felt I would lose my mind.
I searched each room looking for a sign; a clue.
But this empty apartment didn't take an Einstein, to figure out there
was no more me and you!!
*Written strictly for Matt Caliri's contest "Empty Apartment" Free-verse
The leaves rustle,
As the trees tell their story.
I lean against one and water it with my tears.
I walk on.
My pace slow.
I remember when I was young.
A child of three mabe four.
I ran among the trees.
A fairy or a bird.
Laughing with my friends.
Oh such innocence.
I reach the forest's end.
The trees part and grass has it's turn in the chorus of nature.
An old church.
It's white paint chipped,
It's bell ringing no longer.
Stands tall.
Guarded by Angels.
Blessed by song.
So many times I had prayed here.
So many times I had imagined coming back.
The door creeks when it opens.
Sturdy beyond it's age.
A single bible remains.
It's pages yellow.
Names written inside the front cover.
I run my fingers over the indentions of the letters.
And I find the name of which I am looking.
I close it and place it back where it was.
I shuffle down the aisle.
My feet rubbing on the aged carpet.
I lean in front of the old wooden podium,
Close my eyes.
And pray for the hope long lost.
The cross as my guide,
The bible as my messenger.
I am Cephas,
A rock upon the dry earth.
I am a stone
Lifted up and set in motion.
The wind surrounds me.
I sink into the brook
And settle.
The water rushes over me,
And my ragged edges and indentions are not;
I am smooth.
A young hand chooses me,
And puts me into a scrip
With four others just as polished-
But I'm the one lifted and set in motion.
The wind surrounds me.
I sink into the frontal
And settle.
The blood rushes over me.
The young hand takes me (still lodged)
To the Holy City.
Now I - Cephas, a stone,
A rock beneath the blessed soil of Jerusalem,
Am settled.
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