Lykren
12-08-2013, 08:32 PM
There is no one toad,
there are no trees, there is no forest,
no lake, no pond, no starry wonder
placed above our heads.
Enchanting life is nowhere to be had,
adoring faces are all passed away,
and when I look into the dark,
the silent, interminable night,
little appears that might be loved.
If once a road was here
that dreamt its way into your heart
and carried the rhythms of my hope,
that slender path is overgrown
with necessity and distance.
I have the right to look away,
as well the right to see,
the desire to refuse,
and balance beside the sea.
So here is a memory,
a chronicle, the fruit of time and ecstasy
hanging in the fog
like a demon in the clockwork
of slow, impenetrable blood.
No snow, tonight, will bury
my imagined revelry;
the thought of streams, of rocks
and rivers, will cross my mind
as I stoop to pluck a flower.
there are no trees, there is no forest,
no lake, no pond, no starry wonder
placed above our heads.
Enchanting life is nowhere to be had,
adoring faces are all passed away,
and when I look into the dark,
the silent, interminable night,
little appears that might be loved.
If once a road was here
that dreamt its way into your heart
and carried the rhythms of my hope,
that slender path is overgrown
with necessity and distance.
I have the right to look away,
as well the right to see,
the desire to refuse,
and balance beside the sea.
So here is a memory,
a chronicle, the fruit of time and ecstasy
hanging in the fog
like a demon in the clockwork
of slow, impenetrable blood.
No snow, tonight, will bury
my imagined revelry;
the thought of streams, of rocks
and rivers, will cross my mind
as I stoop to pluck a flower.