Lykren
01-11-2014, 03:38 AM
Fury withheld, in the palm of the hand
grows cold.
A dance to absence
reveals the longing and the fire.
Rearranging the modest attitudes
of success is something like
steeping the hands in water,
the scent of vinegar wafting
through the window and into the garden,
where drowsy fairies lie in poses
of slipshod attention. Attention!
What liquid, what ambrosia it must be
to take apart one’s delicate behavior
in the face of waves of knowledge.
I dreamed I stole a single drop
out of a great ocean, and the hellhounds
which naturally were set on me
never did find it in their hearts
to let go the hope of resurrection.
A pale seizure of words
complicates the palate, and concentrates upon
the eldest tree in a forest
of veritable elegance. Of vengeance.
grows cold.
A dance to absence
reveals the longing and the fire.
Rearranging the modest attitudes
of success is something like
steeping the hands in water,
the scent of vinegar wafting
through the window and into the garden,
where drowsy fairies lie in poses
of slipshod attention. Attention!
What liquid, what ambrosia it must be
to take apart one’s delicate behavior
in the face of waves of knowledge.
I dreamed I stole a single drop
out of a great ocean, and the hellhounds
which naturally were set on me
never did find it in their hearts
to let go the hope of resurrection.
A pale seizure of words
complicates the palate, and concentrates upon
the eldest tree in a forest
of veritable elegance. Of vengeance.