Revolte
11-02-2011, 12:47 AM
With eyes scratching
words scrawled by dead poets
those day dreams
I keep in my pocket
-recurring and forever there-
spill out and paint
the darkened hallways of my heart.
Bound by nothing
(no form nor goal)
the dripping wet sketches
relieve tangled bones,
if only for a moment,
to remind me of freer stars
in which I'll never reach.
And as quickly as seen
the silent songs of ghosts
desperately fade
into a memory safe
to forever wait to flee
from struggle's dungeon depths
and taunt me once again.
words scrawled by dead poets
those day dreams
I keep in my pocket
-recurring and forever there-
spill out and paint
the darkened hallways of my heart.
Bound by nothing
(no form nor goal)
the dripping wet sketches
relieve tangled bones,
if only for a moment,
to remind me of freer stars
in which I'll never reach.
And as quickly as seen
the silent songs of ghosts
desperately fade
into a memory safe
to forever wait to flee
from struggle's dungeon depths
and taunt me once again.