Catch me dreamweaver, carry me slow wave...
in the hands of the reaper, on the seas of the brave.
my body getting weaker, my soul you can't save.
-poeticDesCent
Try not to focus so much on the specific words; instead, allow yourself to capture the meaning in its whole.... I drift, you drift, we drift apart. I know you feel the slow pull of the undercurrents of life... I know you feel the gentle ebbs of the mighty sea of life. I don't know where you are... My vision still stands clouded by the last storm you left in your wake. So, here in my boat [alone] I have thought. My thoughts have basked under the unrelenting sun... My thoughts have sauntered under the silent stars... I'm tired of this. I try. You are not who you were, when we once sailed together. Now you've turned against me; and, I don't think you see that.
Your black flag wanes on the slowly sliding horizon everytime you approach. Lucky you, I refuse to continue fighting you, fighting to get to you...
Low on provisions and with no land in sight, this will be our last voyage together. I beg you, sail away. Sail away. This is how it ends, again. Where our path diverted, much like in Robert Frost's poem "The Road Not Taken", we chose different routes... and I honestly don't believe that they lead to the same paradise. Regardless, I can't see any reason why we should make both paths significantly more difficult to traverse, by trying to maintain a line of communication along the two roads. I wish you happiness and much success.
Only when I've given up
willingly, might I add,
Only when I've had enough
tearing at my inner self
discontinuing the current version, in a
desparate strangle-hold, fighting back the virus...
fighting back, the sirens blare,
cool chase, while objects in the mirror
stand larger than they actually appear.
No clutch, still I double dutch
grinding through gears one, two, and three...
I'm spinning out of control
I'm spinning out of soul
I'm spinning out of ten yards yarn,
fingers tangled, killing the adroit
tying up the loose ends before the patchwork
resembles anything at all, you call...
seven rings towards acknowledgement
trapped now in cords and string, not to be
confused with chords of strings
despite this cacophonous melody...
singing, shouting, lulling croon
a jacknifed eclipse of shadowed moon,
hanging low like flat "c" on trebled clefs
hanging low like flattened self,
hanging low cumulonimbus clouds,
promising squall satisfaction
simplicity in subtle rain drops
pH pellets of acidic truth, corrosion
of my statute, collapse of my marble facade.
Rip the appendages off this Da Vinci, leaving
behind a maimed mariner,
no arms to row through
the perfect wave, building
up sandy shores, sky scraping
my knees against stratospheres.
The tears fall.
Evidence of my silent murder,
fudgepuck the love
I'm destined else.
Only when I've given up,
desperately, might I add,
only now I'm eaten up...
snacking on my inner wealth.
-poeticDesCent
Copyright 2007poeticDesCent. All rights reserved by the author. Unlawful use or reproduction may result in legal action. Art courtesy of deviantART @ http://www.deviantart.com
