Still, It All Seems Endless
I scream from the top of the tallest mountain
I scream to the trees on the hazy ground below
But they only hear a whisper
That’s okay, they’ll be different tomorrow
That’s okay, they’ve seen ten of my lifetimes
With any luck they might see ten more
I scream from the dark forest up to the tallest mountain
It can’t hear me at all
That’s okay, it’s seen everything and nothing
That’s okay, it wouldn’t change for me even if it could
The birds hear my scream and I stand below and watch them fly
With any luck I might see them again
With any luck they might never see me
How many more times might I watch the birds fly into the clouds?
Maybe ten, maybe a thousand
Maybe never again
Still it all seems endless
And my screams turn to whispers
Windchimes
I whisper out the window to the birds,
Perched in their burning autumn tree
As their song shuffles through the leaves
the wind blows and whitewashes my image of you
Everytime you come into focus,
A gust blurs my photograph
The edges soften
Whites steal its saturation
Push and pull
A hum
A whisper
The windchimes ringing out the window
Sing their song of melancholy
But still remember not to forget their optimism
They still remember not to forget their optimism
A Wind Whips Through The Portrait Gallery
A flaming sunset wind
Burns into the walls
Of the portrait gallery
Someone left the door open
Now it’s become an expanding fault line
Cracking through the ancient wooden walls
A wind whips through the portrait gallery
Dragging skins of oil paint from their supports
Fragments of once powerful men
And their vast Italian landscapes
Folding over each other
Cracked paint skins
Ripped to the ground
Collecting in muddy piles
Pressed against the eastern wall
Canvases are rendered blank
Ghosts inside their gilded gold frames
A wind whips through the portrait gallery
Sea Glass
Cerulean blue sea glass
Expands and contracts
As if filling with air
Rising and falling
Like the ocean swelling to shore
White Winter Light
Frissons tremble through the branches
A sharp white winter light
Vibrates through their veins
Vibrations
Vibrations are the rhythm in everything
The whole world moves with you
Do you remember your childhood?
Quiet Is A Place
Quiet is a place
Still Skies
&
Clear Blues
