Silence among the frescoes.
From the grace of golden clouds no hand reaches forth;
the figure’s face, dripping beneath the memories
sustains the look without the weight that weathered.
In his eyes, the rain;
in theirs, a can without preamble;
in hers, a note these halls no longer echo.
There are no borders, save the cracks time rendered
to resonate vogue vagaries into the earth beyond
where roots have seeped into the author’s boots
drinking up the vivification of his solitude;
drowning in the depths of isolation.
Roiling at the seams
in browned spots
the print, smeared
still holds flecks of the image
the profile was meant to be.
the ageless quality of a tree
rising from the hunched cranial
(let us admit: too large) cavity
rooted in the faded flesh
so gently blurred;
without a stream to drink from
it curled and devoured
the paper that gave it breath.
Perhaps, even, its branches
would die to give us this moment.
I have heard it called quaint,
our gentle hording
of a memory,
but the thoughts that resurrected
the flesh beyond those roots
was once quite dear
though without the stream
it rippled free into distortion
like the beating of a dream
of a drum, of a thought;
the water carried me away
rootless under the surface
with nothing but the edges
of a curling notion.
The lake is empty.
Roots have left this shore.
Freedom to be free,
containment shattered by the waves of yore–
all of It will cease to be
before they see that less is rarely more.
Empty Lake Bed, (from iDesign iPhone Wallpapers)
Let’s call it trees tumbling in the woods
It’s the mountain cry that never rumbles off man
Voices bred on streets and horns
We’re drowned in concrete, child,
Because the world might hear a sound
But individual is just so much noise
They’ll never hear, and never care.
Black waters dripping from a lonely tower,
The watch fires long since died.
Crumbling bricks betray its tale—
Its friends have long since passed it by.
Grasses overgrown, it stands secluded,
Cut off from the world beyond—
Weeping as a child in the bitter night.
A stray mouse prods the rotting mass—
The tower crumbles down.
Another vivid memory
Has faded into dark.