by trentm32 » 4/24/2005, 1:19 pm
"coming towards"
fall into
this world
of silver and blue
where I am just
another writer
asking again
take, take,
take, taking in
just hear the
empty things
they say
where I am
just another
voice
looking for
the words
come, come
come, coming
towards
...
"I am/you are"
I am deep, flawed, shallow
horny, crying myself to sleep
dancing in the rain, and
everything in between--
I'm human. I'm alive.
You should try it sometime.
You are petty vendettas,
wound up so tight,
you can't crack a smile
working 'till daybreak
for nothing at all
back-stabbing like middle-school
You're a machine. You're forgotten.
Please leave me and my 'shortcomings' alone.
...
"still here in the morning"
and my broken heart
holds this broken story
fake it to heart, tear me apart
but I'm still here in the morning
and this broken bind
holds this broken poem
see all the signs, tell your lies,
just acting like you know me
...
"a composition notebook"
longing for the endlessness,
turning present into past
look back on the inspiration--
the pain, the loneliness;
self-esteem to fill a thimble
wanting to write something,
something important
a frozen gazebo, water turns to ice--
the darkness, the stars;
cold fingers and a shaking hand
pages drift into the wind,
my angst haunts the heavens
look back to the empty lines--
a composition notebook, a hollow shell;
and a walk alone, through the darkened park
"When looking up there, I just felt whole, like I belonged. Like one day I too would shine my most brilliant. Sitting there also made me think about sitting through services at my little country church back home. About that never-changing congregation of the same sixty-seven people and everyone has known you since before you were born. Now, out here in the real world, everything just seemed more vivid than when I used to sit in that little pew. That pew that was now so, so far away from where I was. I feared I had somehow left God behind there, too. I feared he was somehow just sitting there, saving my seat on the fifth pew from the front row, just waiting on me to come back. I left so quickly, I worried that he may not have noticed I was gone. And, now, I’m just too far away to find. So he’s just sitting there, patiently waiting on me to come back. I closed my eyes and prayed a moment. I hoped more than anything that he could still hear me." -an excerpt from my novella, A Sea of Fallen Leaves.
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