The Concept of PerspectiveI unfurl with lavender,wild and stretching possibilitieswithin velvet serenity.I sway joyously with conducting treesand fall with musical, tumbling leaves,recognition whole;and for once,time does not governbut witnesses.I change like the seasons,no complicated reason...just that I do;it is as they always say:some things, they never change.
ChrysalisThese stammering heartbeatsfelt in stuttering airways,where butterflies came out as words of love;caught harshly within your net,subduing and possessing.My innocence was shucked,my freedom spread and pinned to paper
before lips devoured mewith passions normally concealedwith words left, and felt,within each humid stretch of silence.With each cocooned metamorphosis,you kept me confined warmly
stationary wings loved, still;It is as my heart,which loves until beat silent
and silent I wish I was,instead of loving and livingwithin seeds of carefully tendednaivety.because words unspoken diejust as softly.
Quieting the Sparrow "Release me, now
I desire wind's flight."You do not yet understandthe thrashing of feelingsthe bite of crooning words;You know not the cruelty of man,nor the tip of his arrow
Man hunts and stalksbeauty with sardonic blatancyelated and brimmed with delight.He snuffs it out with senses akin to savage beasts,crippling prey with fearsome teeth.However, amongst fear and shattered aspirations,there is no greater rush than to huntand be hunted
but once caught:reality wakes cold.
03 - Thy Autumn WaysThou abandons love like red, falling leaves:Impossible (by logic) to foretellBut conversant of happenings thus seen
Typical, vain: again love's naïve fool.Metamorphic was thy nature, thy name;Enticed to faults, I rested beside thee,Within thy chrysalis to entertain.Newly adapted, thou did desert me
Aware I became to thy wicked ways,Thy heart a quick bee, flitting from flowers
Disdainful were acts to set love ablaze,Attracted to variety's pleasure.I hope Autumn ways morph to Winter chills:Left, and desolate, with morals instilled.
UnfoundedI cram words within murky, hollow spaces,replicating ways in which blood fills a wound.I squeeze articles and adjectivessupporting metaphors and similesinto tight-fitting corners,until that which is empty begins to bloat.The ache of something missing,the loss of one internal, now painfully unknown:it finds no satisfaction within passionand phrases so desperately created, upheld.Why give transparent, misleading hope
Does pleasure derive from humiliationthe catalyzing of previously weakened hearts?Where is the limit of cruelty defined,if not in the cries and weeping of dreams:Language wilts on my fingertips,turns to ash in my mouth
the gorge in my throat which partakes inyoung suffering.Yet...how significant is agony endured within silence,inside pitiful thoughts?It is nothing notable of specific emotion,only biting veracities upon repetitionand foolish belief:"I am no poet of words."
EnzymaticIn my tears I drowned for youwhen my cries could not grow fingers to r e a c h ;you were apathy wrapped in silent smiles,which touched and made to feel.I felt youdiscovered you,like children sent scavenging forhidden notes and clues;you were a jagged jigsaw puzzlelovingly pieced together
Done in silence,through studied observationsand tentative smiles aimed at shoulder blades;you would never grant me accessif you knew my subtle intimacy
left one-sided and aching likegoodbyes rolled into single nights of warmth.You were my radiance, illuminating internal corners until I believed that I, too, could shine as bright; it appears only some are meant to be the sun.
SupernovaI teeter,and I totter,within my wooden frame:a high-wire actfallingAspirations desire mea paint-filled masterpiece,until misery engulfs and claims.Anticipation mountswithin ambition,while I wait with goosebumps scatteredacross quivering exteriors.Colors soon steal over melike phantom hands of nightas paint caresses canvased skin,so still and statuesque.All at once, I colorfullyexplodelike asupernova,within distantdepthsof universe;an acrylic creation Unfathomed.