Lykren
11-18-2014, 08:06 PM
To Answer My Own Question:
Don’t do things, they only make you sadder.
Memory’s a riptide, the ocean a caressing voice.
These thoughts of you are like children too young to read,
incapable of understanding the world’s mind,
its immense intention. What they want won't arrive
before the deepest dawn, earlier than the brightest frost.
Instead of leafthin breath or tremulous vision,
you have another sight, a heart beating swiftly.
The sleep I'm given is the animal’s ferocious hunting.
I wonder about my thoughts the last time I toyed
with a puff of grass, if I had any idea of the way
smoky clouds can filter down to be the entire sea
without ever raining. Once begun what will forever do,
how might it haunt the humans who run apace her
in the studied landscape washed with purples and blues,
forever?
Either:
Either
love is too fragile
or I am too clumsy.
Don’t do things, they only make you sadder.
Memory’s a riptide, the ocean a caressing voice.
These thoughts of you are like children too young to read,
incapable of understanding the world’s mind,
its immense intention. What they want won't arrive
before the deepest dawn, earlier than the brightest frost.
Instead of leafthin breath or tremulous vision,
you have another sight, a heart beating swiftly.
The sleep I'm given is the animal’s ferocious hunting.
I wonder about my thoughts the last time I toyed
with a puff of grass, if I had any idea of the way
smoky clouds can filter down to be the entire sea
without ever raining. Once begun what will forever do,
how might it haunt the humans who run apace her
in the studied landscape washed with purples and blues,
forever?
Either:
Either
love is too fragile
or I am too clumsy.