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Dark Heaven
Earth becoming the planet of the disoriented,
Words without life,
Opinions, full of criticism and spite,
Regurgitated from the pit of your sour belly,
With the depth as deep as you choose to roam,
Your personal sea of unvented decay,
Or lackluster expression,
In an endless sea of melancholy and void,
And supressed in the background,
The silent desperate quiver of yesterday's fears,
Guarding it's throne in the fragile story of your life,
Coveting the untold piles of unchartered beauty,
Pages and pages of shining stars hidden between the rancid ones,
Something of a 'Jonnie or Janie be good' trying to sell reprimands,
Displaying a show of exchange,
Shame for wisdom you offer,
Cloaking the truth,
Concealed behind a plastic reality,
Only ever seen by you,
Fluffy and soft through this deception,
We are all the same in this way,
So may hours and days we withered,
In a rigorous frenzy towards our own invention of truth,
As we battle each other to remove the blindfolds
That thwart the ingenuous nature of each of our existences.
We can choose to stop any time we want,
And find our Church within.
© 2013
I enjoyed this piece. Every
I enjoyed this piece. Every line was its own serious contemplation. It truly makes one think, and offers a conceivable insinuate of hope at the end. It is certainly not all cheer, but nonetheless has some delicate whispers of optimism, and promise, that may conceivably blossom – by the action of your own internal faith based petitioning. Like it.
Thank you AquarianMale. It
Thank you AquarianMale. It pleases me to know you were able to access palatable introspection to assist your creativity. Blessings.
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "