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Watchtower... a dog becomes concrete and large enough to house men. An ocean is its reign. The is n say what will rise with the waves, what will suddenly appear across the horizon, pirated treasures or monsters of the deep.
The power of your presence, like breath too long, too short, too loud, but essential to living. The grip of your gaze, the smile that spills the secrets of the heart even as it tries to hide them... you influence me in so many ways.
It is not adorned, my heart. Vulnerable and fresh like a delicate flower, it dares to open its petals towards you.
The rocks folded holding layers of secrets, calcified moments, who would reveal their stories to only the deserving. Those who could un-code the language of history not written in books, not whispered or shouted, but hangs silently, waiting for the ripe mind.
Will you keep me in that trial box till I rot or plead guilty..? I didn't know it was a crime! I didn't know it was possible even - till it happened. You look for a noose, I'm a two timer after all. Wrong. It was not just another I loved along with you - I loved the world and all in it. Now the noose will change into a garland... will it?
It must have been ice - thin, transparent treacherous, like a cunning lover who wants to hold onto you, trapping you in his web or intrigues only his spidery mind can weave...
They whisper in the night, tickling the stars to laugh away their light. Words - hums without sound. Saying nothing, saying all. They float in the air and if you breathe right, breathe deep, they'll dissolve in your blood. Quietly they float like feathers and land in your dreams... the whispers of eternity, landing on the plateau of Time.
It's the power that comes from a focus, knowing where you are going. Having fuel in you and someone to navigate so you don't go off the path... but above all it's driving force that comes from having a goal, that makes you an engine, that can lead others.
They crawl in my head, sometimes I'm tickled and laugh. Since no one can see them crawling inside, they think I'm mad. When they sink their cruel fangs and bite my brain, groans burst like window panes in a hurricane, they think I'm mad. They cannot feel what I feel. How did they get there?
He'd plucked the two blue flowers with the delicate petals, carefully avoiding the thorns so that the hint of white in the center of the flower wouldn't tear. He gave them to her with a quiet look, she smiled and went into the kitchen, leaving them on the sofa. When she returned, she didn't notice she'd sat on them, sinking her teeth in the sweetness of a piece of plum cake.
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writing since 2011 · 123 entries · 105 days shown up
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