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| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 16:40:27 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 83903
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The water toppled from his side (for the people at yourpoetry)
[time] => 2005-02-10 23:22:57
[hometext] => it's not really a poem...more just random thought all thrown together....I could've done you much better but it was a long and tired night^_^ always, abraham
[bodytext] => If I could slowly begin. If I could, against these keys, press lightly the white and flushing skin, I would share the love and sadness that I feel. Some nights I just can't get it right. I try and try and write and write and the moments never rise my eyes forget to fade and I cannot breath my life onto this page. Some nights I lay awake in bed for hours thinking nothing thinking the sweat running down my chest thinking the fan above my bed creaking wobbling spinning like a rabid dog eating its own foot, singing its shallow hungry fate at the edge of the moon; outside my window the dogs howl the cats ***** the sirens continue the sirens continue the sirens never end, i think them the beautiful blank sheet sliding over the old womans corpse. I think them the old mans eyes passed over with cataracts and fear. My neighbors are breaking bottles in the street. The crushed palmetto bug missing from the corner of my bedroom is a tired comfort comforting my drooping, tired eyes; the mirror I am afraid to speak two words the mirror I fear the darkness the darkness recedes the car door slams the beer bottles come to an end the world is silent for a moment as I sleep the blue screen the camera pans. I can write such sadness here. The water toppled from his side. The blood and clairity of a man with no end. I can write such anger here. The bombs go off the gunshots never sleep the desert meets the empty, city street. But I can not write what I mean to say. I cannot write the world is beautiful beneath the blanket smothered pores the blanket soaked with sweat the world is beautiful my hand the sunlight against the captives shade I cannot write the world is shattered song singing the sick and weary song of a man with no end who topples water from his side who bleeds his love who kicks the table wrought of greed and gold who kisses his brothers cheek who loves who loves who loves. I cannot write my fingers ache my twisted, knarled knuckles strained against these keys my eyes itch and burn puff red and wrench my tears. I cannot contain, in these words, what I feel for you...all of you.... [comments] => 1 [counter] => 185 [topic] => 43 [informant] => iodinelove [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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