With egg upon my face...
I have witnessed the gray divide
where sequins meet a licorice sky
just as the man inside a ball of ash
makes his faint charcoal appearance
I have written once or thrice
upon the grains of dead wood
with an exquisite delicate quill
that I had ripped from an angel
There's an owl atop an crooked steeple
he looks down upon me and shouts
who, who, who,? you stupid girl
I am, for that stupid illusive boy
My shadow stretches ahead of me
fading into cracks of cold cement
am I suppose to follow that exit?
damn these bending hallucinations
I curled into your form last night
as you are my disease of choice
that lights the path of this glow
and glimmer that holds your eye
Just I dust your sleeping eyelids
with your long awaited visions
of a woman harvesting your words
filling a hole of a wounded poet
Tears have fallen like vacant rain
when all is but behind those gates
of a world grown with unworthy seeds
that emulate beautiful but poisonous
Here within these far fetched thoughts
I sit humbled at the feet of Mozart
my personal colorful fabrication
he brushes my hair as if I am his pet
This morning I cracked a sunrise egg
the sound led me into another frame
where your life is within this shell
here I taste you with my velvet tongue
Written by,
Abby lynn
©
2011
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With egg upon my face...
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