| opening an envelope with a rusted voice, messages unfurled, like a persian rug, decorated and pretty, i sit for awhile, and i turn to notice that this rug speaks back, the night is long and cold much like my life, i am discontent with the ignorance and arrogance in the warm core of averages, blaming everything on someone else and not taking ones share in what they hold, we are the riders of a failing system, crashing to grateful oblivion, clothed in our selfishness, where am i in the coils of time, slowly unwinding, this vivid landscape holds true to itself in the grudges of your own past, do you even see, what is wrong with you, the sundial works through the moonlight, and maybe we will go back in time as the sun rises up after its long rest, you suffocate in your self-induced lies, faintly smiling, and then, ill pass you by, with a certain disreguard, as if you were a stumped tree, branching off into the world with no purpose, indulge, soak, sift, drift, cry, break, messages to all of you, with your rusted voices, come back home, and leave your pasts, as they will end us, and join me in this starfilled navy night, where even i can smile honestly, i promise its safe, the moon winks at me, and there is disbelief even yet in his lonely smile that comes every once so often, the snowflakes dance upon the young lady's glove, melting in the break of innocence, she whispers in my ear, Goodnight gentle child, for what dreams are there when your eyes havent rested. |
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