Not in the way that I live my life, but in the way you see it with those thick blues upon me like spider bites to irritate the direction, distract the intentions for which I consume the days like fruit from the sky, sinking teeth into juicy flesh of memories, tragedies and truths.
I see you like that sometimes, like you mentioned in my dreams, you were once a child swinging with the ropes from the tree that stung your skin yesterday, because you are now free of that innocence, free of that 'breathe like the sky lives within you' way of thinking.
I am sorry you forgot about all this, but I must remind you cause he's still there. You know,
There is this fire inside
passion like the north side of the moon
and it grows, embers and all
with the wind, as it blows towards August –
near sand, rocks, waves and those ever-knowing birds
that know when its time to come to the shore, come to feed.
The foam of this oceans puss sits between my toes
and all the mush on the west-line of the world
brushes me to exfoliate my soul
to that colour, you know that tone
that shade that reminds you
every morning to just breathe.
I burn like that volcano up north
but its just the summertime
and I know that I'm better
barefoot on the warm golden sand
so that the blues of the m
The trees that mark the path by oneautumnstar, literature
Literature
The trees that mark the path
Do you see it?
The day breaks in two before us,
consoling our souls.
For we are playing the parts of idols.
Greed and infatuation,
smearing with every step,
they breathe together like you and I tried to.
But, it's the sun and his mercy upon us
to relieve our deeds
and deny the seeds we have imparted –
upon your belly,
between my knees.
The tongue is coarse
and is already forgetting
the taste of your cotton stain.
Suddenly, I am a wife. by oneautumnstar, literature
Literature
Suddenly, I am a wife.
March with me dear
as we wait for the science
to speak to us
of pressing times and the shifts
an idol can make.
As we convince ourselves
to hook our lights
into their candies
and fresh salt.
An appearance
of its rusty hinges.
Oh heart of the terror tangerines
amongst our great silence
our strength for his winters
our jewel in the face of madness.
From his lips pithily loops
cold crushing lyrics
of our worlds latest fugue.
And we said in our
melodramatic symphony
fingers locked
we are all deaf and dumb.
I
Present day.
French kiss and fog aside
by the rowers and minds.
You taste of olive oil.
Smothered in the cresses of your smile.
It's November
and you are just beginning to shine.
As the day creeps across your back,
the posture that never gave in
to a world of lusting dandelions.
Friend of a friend.
I've gone up your sleeve.
II
You left me
still as prayer
outside the cathedral walls.
As Christ becomes
soon forgotten
and I wish he was you
and you were he.
Bleeding out
dying for me.
I am the only sin
upon your cloth
stain upon your cheek
washing away with the days
empty rains.
III
Stuck in your arms
soft whisper
I sometimes feel new within my skin
like time, that ticking demon,
has no shoulder to squash under its weight
and the noon birds pray with the trees
to seek the moon and dead sleeping stars
across the vastness of ambiguity.
I sometimes feel old and livid within my skin
and the days wrestle me
for chicken bones and dry accents
(fear fleeting)
and all the noise in the world
bellows over one small child's tongue.
I
Our endless muddy stage
beside the cider and soot
on the ground with the kingly leaves
of last fall and last years subdue
to kiss the petals
the wine of your lips
how the sun would rest
in your eyes
how could I forget.
II
Suddenly crashing with the burden of this pummeling
get to him over there when you were there with one who wore you for no one else
and its simple when you say it how it comes out but it can mean so much
like the world is heavy within your hands the red the blue the green seeping beneath your fingernails
with every beautiful shade and soon it glides into your lungs making smoke from trees to give
Not in the way that I live my life, but in the way you see it with those thick blues upon me like spider bites to irritate the direction, distract the intentions for which I consume the days like fruit from the sky, sinking teeth into juicy flesh of memories, tragedies and truths.
I see you like that sometimes, like you mentioned in my dreams, you were once a child swinging with the ropes from the tree that stung your skin yesterday, because you are now free of that innocence, free of that 'breathe like the sky lives within you' way of thinking.
I am sorry you forgot about all this, but I must remind you cause he's still there. You know,
There is this fire inside
passion like the north side of the moon
and it grows, embers and all
with the wind, as it blows towards August –
near sand, rocks, waves and those ever-knowing birds
that know when its time to come to the shore, come to feed.
The foam of this oceans puss sits between my toes
and all the mush on the west-line of the world
brushes me to exfoliate my soul
to that colour, you know that tone
that shade that reminds you
every morning to just breathe.
I burn like that volcano up north
but its just the summertime
and I know that I'm better
barefoot on the warm golden sand
so that the blues of the m
The trees that mark the path by oneautumnstar, literature
Literature
The trees that mark the path
Do you see it?
The day breaks in two before us,
consoling our souls.
For we are playing the parts of idols.
Greed and infatuation,
smearing with every step,
they breathe together like you and I tried to.
But, it's the sun and his mercy upon us
to relieve our deeds
and deny the seeds we have imparted –
upon your belly,
between my knees.
The tongue is coarse
and is already forgetting
the taste of your cotton stain.
Suddenly, I am a wife. by oneautumnstar, literature
Literature
Suddenly, I am a wife.
March with me dear
as we wait for the science
to speak to us
of pressing times and the shifts
an idol can make.
As we convince ourselves
to hook our lights
into their candies
and fresh salt.
An appearance
of its rusty hinges.
Oh heart of the terror tangerines
amongst our great silence
our strength for his winters
our jewel in the face of madness.
From his lips pithily loops
cold crushing lyrics
of our worlds latest fugue.
And we said in our
melodramatic symphony
fingers locked
we are all deaf and dumb.
I
Present day.
French kiss and fog aside
by the rowers and minds.
You taste of olive oil.
Smothered in the cresses of your smile.
It's November
and you are just beginning to shine.
As the day creeps across your back,
the posture that never gave in
to a world of lusting dandelions.
Friend of a friend.
I've gone up your sleeve.
II
You left me
still as prayer
outside the cathedral walls.
As Christ becomes
soon forgotten
and I wish he was you
and you were he.
Bleeding out
dying for me.
I am the only sin
upon your cloth
stain upon your cheek
washing away with the days
empty rains.
III
Stuck in your arms
soft whisper
I sometimes feel new within my skin
like time, that ticking demon,
has no shoulder to squash under its weight
and the noon birds pray with the trees
to seek the moon and dead sleeping stars
across the vastness of ambiguity.
I sometimes feel old and livid within my skin
and the days wrestle me
for chicken bones and dry accents
(fear fleeting)
and all the noise in the world
bellows over one small child's tongue.
I
Our endless muddy stage
beside the cider and soot
on the ground with the kingly leaves
of last fall and last years subdue
to kiss the petals
the wine of your lips
how the sun would rest
in your eyes
how could I forget.
II
Suddenly crashing with the burden of this pummeling
get to him over there when you were there with one who wore you for no one else
and its simple when you say it how it comes out but it can mean so much
like the world is heavy within your hands the red the blue the green seeping beneath your fingernails
with every beautiful shade and soon it glides into your lungs making smoke from trees to give
There is this neon acid
that sits in the back of my throat
waiting for the noise to sound
the sign to begin
the war of hearts
to eat the man alive
and betray every
sense of affection.
'come all ye lost
dive into moss
i hope that my sanity covers the cost
to remove the stain of my love
paper maché
come all ye reborn
blow off my horn
i'm driving real hard
this is love this is porn
god would forgive me
but i.. i whip myself scorn scorn
i wanna hear what you have to say about me
hear if you're gonna live without me
hear what you want
i remember december
and I wanna hear what you have to say about me
hear if you're gonna live without me
i wanna hear what you want
what the hell do you want?'
- damien rice
----------
my writing has been shit lately.. i feel ive lost the intensity that i once had.. the ra