''Folly''
Worthy Of You
''Worthy Of You''
1. A mouth
of flesh like a cave,
stone rendering stone,
rendering weight.
Time
liquid and moving,
like muscles and nerves,
never still,
You will,
or you wont.
You do,
or you don't.
2.Your hopes are but wishes,(no momentum)
and you were three times wished well,
in a garden,
in the city,
and in a dream.
Lovelier burdens that will break,
and in time create,
a stronger heart and stranger eyes,
a childish grin,
a shrug, and a sign.
3.Pleased. -and better for it this once.
Let it come,
let it fall,
Let it release itself-
Upon and into itself
Curses without end or provocation
Fate holding its long grudge.
Always will.
4.The night is nearly bled,
and day begins to rise
the last conscious thoughts granted to me this day belongs to you.
Farewell, into sleep
and sudden slumbers...
Submitting to sleep
Ravaged by slumber
To climb wild vines up and down and out.
Given over to rest
my resistance is all but an idea,
that crept in and found purchase,
in my tired heart,
my weary mind.
5.Tiny cracks in sheets of glass,
metal fibers stretched to breaking-
and farther.
Today the heat is clumsy and contrived,
The humidity is tormenting the simple village,
and the people all gathered at the rivers mouth,
all Nobel brown and copper,
elegant in each savage movement,
The awkward grace of losing faith-
(or saving face.)
A marching choir of serpents,
held together by string,
bent on ruining anything (and) everything
6.Use an old book to mark my tomb,
or scatter my ashes in an empty room,
makes very little difference to me at all.
I stole some clothes,
I took them off,
I set them ablaze.
7. Oh rain,
Bleeding the sky,
calls out to the Sun: ''Carry on!"
Slow. Foolishly slow.
A fiend who begs for forgiveness-
Lonely clouds in the shape of lions,
casting lonely shadows.
8.Suddenly I recognize the fruits-
used to judge our roots-
in our attempts to measure ''truth''.
9.Foolish play,
washes away
it comes and goes like a Saturday
(rain)
10.I hear she doesn't bleed forgiveness
For almost anything or anyone.
I wonder does she still wait for princes,
or preacher's sons.
11.Each guest is a ghost,
wandering from room to room,
an empty house, wooden floors,
High ceilings.
trouble each painting-
trouble each breath.
12.She hides her hearts in hollow trees,
And tells her secrets to the morning breeze
What she will confess and what she wont confess.
Brought to bed, or put to rest.
13.A cauldron of themes,
motives, hidden, half-hearted desires.
A hundred lives in the sand-
all running along-side crude or well worn paths,
The strict policies of trust,
once loose and buoyant,
left lifeless and orginized.
All heart removed.
14.Paintings on the wall,
waits on the call (by the curtains)
Summoned to an endings end
love shall make it's own amends.
1. A mouth
of flesh like a cave,
stone rendering stone,
rendering weight.
Time
liquid and moving,
like muscles and nerves,
never still,
You will,
or you wont.
You do,
or you don't.
2.Your hopes are but wishes,(no momentum)
and you were three times wished well,
in a garden,
in the city,
and in a dream.
Lovelier burdens that will break,
and in time create,
a stronger heart and stranger eyes,
a childish grin,
a shrug, and a sign.
3.Pleased. -and better for it this once.
Let it come,
let it fall,
Let it release itself-
Upon and into itself
Curses without end or provocation
Fate holding its long grudge.
Always will.
4.The night is nearly bled,
and day begins to rise
the last conscious thoughts granted to me this day belongs to you.
Farewell, into sleep
and sudden slumbers...
Submitting to sleep
Ravaged by slumber
To climb wild vines up and down and out.
Given over to rest
my resistance is all but an idea,
that crept in and found purchase,
in my tired heart,
my weary mind.
5.Tiny cracks in sheets of glass,
metal fibers stretched to breaking-
and farther.
Today the heat is clumsy and contrived,
The humidity is tormenting the simple village,
and the people all gathered at the rivers mouth,
all Nobel brown and copper,
elegant in each savage movement,
The awkward grace of losing faith-
(or saving face.)
A marching choir of serpents,
held together by string,
bent on ruining anything (and) everything
6.Use an old book to mark my tomb,
or scatter my ashes in an empty room,
makes very little difference to me at all.
I stole some clothes,
I took them off,
I set them ablaze.
7. Oh rain,
Bleeding the sky,
calls out to the Sun: ''Carry on!"
Slow. Foolishly slow.
A fiend who begs for forgiveness-
Lonely clouds in the shape of lions,
casting lonely shadows.
8.Suddenly I recognize the fruits-
used to judge our roots-
in our attempts to measure ''truth''.
9.Foolish play,
washes away
it comes and goes like a Saturday
(rain)
10.I hear she doesn't bleed forgiveness
For almost anything or anyone.
I wonder does she still wait for princes,
or preacher's sons.
11.Each guest is a ghost,
wandering from room to room,
an empty house, wooden floors,
High ceilings.
trouble each painting-
trouble each breath.
12.She hides her hearts in hollow trees,
And tells her secrets to the morning breeze
What she will confess and what she wont confess.
Brought to bed, or put to rest.
13.A cauldron of themes,
motives, hidden, half-hearted desires.
A hundred lives in the sand-
all running along-side crude or well worn paths,
The strict policies of trust,
once loose and buoyant,
left lifeless and orginized.
All heart removed.
14.Paintings on the wall,
waits on the call (by the curtains)
Summoned to an endings end
love shall make it's own amends.
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Worthy Of You
Worthy Of You
