fleeting thoughts dress you as a ghost the teeming meadow becomes a cemetary you never stopped to pick a cherry on your way. now youre creeping dead looking for a host never found shelter, never knew you had the most youll need inside from whence you bleed flowers grow innocent on the weeds of greed. two brains sit on a headrest counting sheep sleeping adjacent yet will never meet acme trains pouring into a vase of glowing glass holding water thats not even close to boiling holding a shovel and fiercely toiling. the truth is that youll die one day forget the things that made you sad and sail away to waters unfolding that is your element if you are untold buying tears working minutes our thoughts are gold and water make blood add mud get oil the powers that be will destroy me like time would anybody has to be ready for the unexpected anybody built it so anybody can wreck it lies are a vassal that has no sin we fought to be sold and buy what we never win find sanctuary in the castle you are already in
this is beautiful, with a poignant message. i love the last line this poem has a Plath feel, have you read her?
. these are actually songs, if you can believe that they are singable...i would love to sing them for everyone i have not read Plath, but i would love to hear about it ! is it a her? a him? an it? a quark? heres another since you liked it, beautiful hippie vixen "Pet Duke" itching scratches to scratch an itch mocked by things parasitic attached to a bag of salty wine and rock glued to a ticking clock sailing the crust to a rift on a raft Joy is sorrow unmasked wisdom is a sour cherry chewed by a jester on his way to a cemetary ' cause.. the rain paid our grub to grow and the wind paid the rain to snow and i dont know or else id change the snow to rain praying never changed anything except for spring ..an effect of turning grey array from blue and red no one will miss me when im dead in everyone is a faithful dog searching for a bowl in the mysterious fog Patriotism is a double edged sword Beware Caeser beating the drums of war paddling fast our sinking rafts against the draft painting a sacred scared sensation, modern mans tired bones only express temptation the only difference in colors expressed by identical twin brothers both go grey before going to the fray by way of a hawk that knows the river styx like blue knows the shock of never getting its fix always resting in my eyes, a haze of cumbersome tries to catch up to an impulse, the rose of no thorn will be worn by the grateful dead the scars on your head show how much weve tried to lie every song needs bass in the space of grass induced grace Rising waves, we are washed on the shores of tommorrow
