Let's talk about examples,
That epitomize uncertain times,
That sketch out the feeling
Of similar words that just won't rhyme.
Perhaps something uncommon,
Like when a bolt of lightning strikes,
And the target's gripped in the hands of instant change,
That would go something like:
Forsaking boundaries of great distance,
Lightning flies down to hit the ground,
And the aftermath's uneasy serenity
Is a world strictly stuck in "Now",
Reverbs ricochet through you swiftly,
Uncomfortable ripples of the soul,
And in shocked, stunned-stupid silence,
You've lost any semblance of control.
We don't hear the full story,
It's a painting lacking shade,
It's an effect with no seeming cause,
It's a float with no parade,
When everything passed is erased,
What dictates where to go?
And context bails without a note,
And no solution in tow.
Pounding dirt for direction,
Pounding floors just the same,
Tasting the same sensation,
With two slightly different names,
One connected to the earth,
One connected to the walls,
And creeping deeper digging,
Under which one do you fall?
There's an answer and a reason,
And in past the tips of tongues,
You can't catch it if you chase it,
Can't escape it if you run.
But I guess it's just as well.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
The Second Skyline.
Over low-lying hill is a mountain tall,
Where the raindrops sit right before they fall,
And there they'll be,
Waiting to join the sea,
And cloud cover waits for another squall.
Over those hills looms a mountain gray,
It shifts and tumbles across the day,
And a cloud's skyline,
Moving with time,
Skirts the horizon like a mountain range.
Below peaking clouds swirl fog-dripping lakes,
High above us, their depths will break,
And over hills,
Raindrops will spill,
Back down to the earthen pools they make.
Light gray piles up on a blue background,
And mellow peaks soften as the sun goes down,
And it's beyond reach, like
Watching ships from the beach,
Misty, distant, unreal, but close somehow.
Like a masterpiece painted right on the sky,
Where birds and landscapes are free to fly,
It's a cloud's skyline,
Moving with time,
And playing subtle games with my eyes.
Where the raindrops sit right before they fall,
And there they'll be,
Waiting to join the sea,
And cloud cover waits for another squall.
Over those hills looms a mountain gray,
It shifts and tumbles across the day,
And a cloud's skyline,
Moving with time,
Skirts the horizon like a mountain range.
Below peaking clouds swirl fog-dripping lakes,
High above us, their depths will break,
And over hills,
Raindrops will spill,
Back down to the earthen pools they make.
Light gray piles up on a blue background,
And mellow peaks soften as the sun goes down,
And it's beyond reach, like
Watching ships from the beach,
Misty, distant, unreal, but close somehow.
Like a masterpiece painted right on the sky,
Where birds and landscapes are free to fly,
It's a cloud's skyline,
Moving with time,
And playing subtle games with my eyes.
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