Projector

I see that you are
Disenchanted with your life
But I have seen
the moments
full of light,
Movie perfect
outlined just right.
Did you read the Script?
Pronounce the words
the way you do,
Syllables Stumbling
from practiced lips,
spitting rhymes like
cowboy whips.
You speak of beauty,
of intangible risks.
We walked the narrow path
below the spying sky,
waiting for invisible predators
to take us in the night.
I beg for the shadows
to be revealed,
and illuminate in
Spotlight.
You pulled back the Curtains
of time,
decimating piles of
'insignificant experiences'.
The gestures were yours alone.
The story was ours to own.
Did the world know
you were never pretending?


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Subtly Striking. Benevolently Beautiful. Continuously Conditional.
Our lives are full of wonders. Words sent forth in hope of some kind of something. Some kind of nothing. Some kind of world. We make it what we wish, shape our own existence, and blame someone else when it fails (or not!). Remember your wings, we were all angels before we our days of birth. Naked, pure, delicate winged babies. Some day they will have their world. We will transcend, regress, and nullify our vows to mortal calamity. We are not chaos, this was all planned. Your God forgot to whisper secrets in your ears. HE also forgot to empower the weak, reveal himself in acts of justice, and translate himself into you. Domineering, Domesticating, Dedicating, Demeaning. Dropping down from skies of never, clouds of womanhood. Who is your mother.













http://thecaptain76.deviantart.com/art/Angel-Baby-90678970

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I don't know what it means, I hope you do.


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Chill and Thrill. Our feet are pruney in the water spill.

Dabble.

Sometimes we capture the world through a dusty lens, hoping to create a small reminder of what it was to be alive at the moment. I find photographs rarely do justice to the greatest moments of our lives. The photo does not capture the way the breeze felt across your bare legs, or how the bowl of chicken noodle soup sounded as it splattered across the kitchen floor. And yet I love to take photographs. Photographs of friends, trinkets, statues, scenery, whatever. It's something I've sadly let go in the bustle of my life. I'd like to begin again.


Whimsical whispers sent forth from quivering lips. Reciting words like they're a lifeline, dancing only in the dark or behind closed doors. You are a miracle in my mind, enticing delicate etchings into solid forms. Carving statues from concepts and constructs. Where are you from to begin with. Do you know the mother of men that I have come to know? We met on the day I was born, fresh into this world. She kissed my forehead, told me everything is ok. Said the pretty little things of my mind will amount to more than we'd ever known. She is in the fluid voice of the driven musician, traveling on notes to the ears of mankind. She is the sunset across the mountains, throwing spectrums across the sky. She is the strength all men seek in moments of trouble, grasping for further endurance. She is the beauty of every child, she blesses us like prisms touching lips of the forbidden. The crystals refract the light and reveal. her existence.
Just look. You will find her.



http://thekidwasalright.deviantart.com/art/crystal-ball-93265126


Seizing the thoughts that drift distantly through my mind.
We never know where we will be led.