paix
12-24-2005, 01:35 AM
hey all, I wrote this at like 2:30 am, but I think I like it, constructive critisism would be lovley :0) I was kind of playing around with some alliteration, it's best if it's read outloud..
If words fell
As pebbles
From my mouth when I spoke.
Smooth river rocks, polished by rolling tides
Jagged stones
Boulders, heavy with
emotion, passion, love, lust.
If my words carried weight, presence, being.
If they tumbled out with grace, or clumsy akwardness
Respectively.
If a physical manifestation
Of each word I uttered existed
If a sharp point was created
Each time I voiced doubt in myself,
If a shiny ruby was pulled into existence
With the word love.
If the thoughts in my head
Tumbled like so many stones,
If repeated stories collected dust,
If hurled insults hit my heart on the way down.
If my tounge could feel the sharp,
The fear, the lie, the truth, the tact, the painfull,
The smooth passion, and lust, and wondrous elusive love,
Would my tounge stop?
My brain hesitate,
My word, my stone, my rock,
Would it tumble inside my mouth a moment,
Be reconsidered and swallowed,
Or approved
And allowed to fall to the ground
To make a forever impression?
Would my words change?
My everyday speech shift?
Would I speak in light pebbles,
Pretty shiny colorful stones?
Would I hurl boulders at injustice?
Would piercing passion please my eyes
As well as my ears?
Would words that ring true in the souls of the listeners
Ring out on the pavement, announcing their life,
Take it or hate it
Love it or leave it.
The words would exist in the physical.
The pretty, lilting, lacy, lovely
Alongside the fuckitall.
Which, I wonder, would there be more of?
Could I fill chests with admissions of love?
Coy flirtations taking up shelves upon shelves,
Insults hidden in a back corner,
Noticeably fewer, but existing none the less.
Would gossip over-take my space,
Or would it stop abruptly?
To be replaced by a few kind words of excuse,
Or a note from my doctor;
“Please excuse (patient) from acts of gossip, as they have
proven too heavy to lift, and therefore detrimental to her
health.”
Speaking beauty would become a habit
Too lovely to break.
Lovley, lilting words would find themselves in good company,
And as the cruel, unkind cracks
Made about others, or myself
Became noticeably fewer,
How happy it would be
Just to be Me.
If words fell
As pebbles
From my mouth when I spoke.
Smooth river rocks, polished by rolling tides
Jagged stones
Boulders, heavy with
emotion, passion, love, lust.
If my words carried weight, presence, being.
If they tumbled out with grace, or clumsy akwardness
Respectively.
If a physical manifestation
Of each word I uttered existed
If a sharp point was created
Each time I voiced doubt in myself,
If a shiny ruby was pulled into existence
With the word love.
If the thoughts in my head
Tumbled like so many stones,
If repeated stories collected dust,
If hurled insults hit my heart on the way down.
If my tounge could feel the sharp,
The fear, the lie, the truth, the tact, the painfull,
The smooth passion, and lust, and wondrous elusive love,
Would my tounge stop?
My brain hesitate,
My word, my stone, my rock,
Would it tumble inside my mouth a moment,
Be reconsidered and swallowed,
Or approved
And allowed to fall to the ground
To make a forever impression?
Would my words change?
My everyday speech shift?
Would I speak in light pebbles,
Pretty shiny colorful stones?
Would I hurl boulders at injustice?
Would piercing passion please my eyes
As well as my ears?
Would words that ring true in the souls of the listeners
Ring out on the pavement, announcing their life,
Take it or hate it
Love it or leave it.
The words would exist in the physical.
The pretty, lilting, lacy, lovely
Alongside the fuckitall.
Which, I wonder, would there be more of?
Could I fill chests with admissions of love?
Coy flirtations taking up shelves upon shelves,
Insults hidden in a back corner,
Noticeably fewer, but existing none the less.
Would gossip over-take my space,
Or would it stop abruptly?
To be replaced by a few kind words of excuse,
Or a note from my doctor;
“Please excuse (patient) from acts of gossip, as they have
proven too heavy to lift, and therefore detrimental to her
health.”
Speaking beauty would become a habit
Too lovely to break.
Lovley, lilting words would find themselves in good company,
And as the cruel, unkind cracks
Made about others, or myself
Became noticeably fewer,
How happy it would be
Just to be Me.