your eyes are palms that so comfortably
can mold my corpse into something,someone
sometime,an unhollow breath to follow your(allure
sifting and starlit,evergreen everglades
the eddies of your voice lingered,rosy dews
heavenly,this misanthrope,i,no longer buried;
the colors of our skin match in the dark,where kisses
know naught but the clandestine of )us
yes,mistakable and heartedly,your arms
collapse into the form of me
relieving the senses of wind and sun
o,how Mother cannot understand what this
means:
not grass nor sea
not sky nor tree
,but the remembrance of us,the nostalgia of the last second
Felt around darkness on
the rusty ferry towards Kirkwall.
Night was chasing me
and soon everything turned
to the darkest shade.
The swollen sea was
a ferocious monster,
ready to swallow every sign
of happiness and cover it
under a white foam coat.
From the gate lightly torched,
I saw an unknown Isle,
silent and dark but awake
by the lonely lighthouse.
I was sat by the bench,
feeling sick at the point
We waited the bus,
waited to jump into
the wilderness of the Isle.
Steep cliffs dive in
the foamy sea,
and so the shrubs.
We swayed on the crooked road,
left to the seaside,
right to the rocky hills.
I felt the sparkling air of the south,
where the elements combine
in a marvellous painting.
Twitchers are looking for
unknown discoveries,
the wind cuts their noise
leaving just a thin muffed voice.
Rising on the west coast,
the Seafolk Village
is lying on the shore.
All the windows face the Sun,
sailors are leading their men
through the cold ocean waves,
waiting the lighthouse,
to come home to the
restless wives.
A long distance memory that
crashes miles away.
Folks are welcome
to cheer up the town hall,
otherwise in the deepest shade of grey,
not even the Moon can help.
White sand is all over my shoes
Like a fast dream
in a stormy night,
we found a wee beach
just enclosed between houses.
I got hit by its beauty,
those warm shelters
are not afraid to crumble,
carried away by the waves.
The time didn't hurt them though.
Instead, limpets are living there,
holding strong against the mossy walls.
The water is vivid
taking me back to summer memories,
but now it's tinted with melancholy,
giving deep aquamarine hints.
Swollen tears of the sea,
Up, the train
down, the sea
loving the salty sound
the salty tears
on your face
Walking down at the beach
with our noses up.
The bridge is still looking
the seagull floating
through the damp clouds
It's still looking
from the past
to the future
Crossed like wrong words
on an old paper
that you wrote as love letters.
Shhh...
You are in the potting shed,
where the eldest are chilling
and the children seem so far.
A quiet place to enjoy,
in front of a cup of tea,
or a strawberry tart.
It's the shelter in which
I escape from the noise,
organising tables, looking at the view.
Every touch is a memory of someone who enjoyed the moment.
I can see the sea right after the green hills,
a blend of peace and fresh air.
What a nice ending of the day
looking at the august sun disappearing
between the trees.
Plastic effigies roam the sea,
no starboard or otherwise,
sandwhich bags pass as permits,
simple obligations from where they drearily drink tea.
Day by day, shaped like a gyre,
montonous labyrinthine symposiums,
word by word, waits for knotted guts to spill forth,
oh wait, pull over, another flat tire.
They say many things, those circling sheep,
concepts blend into the next,
the world seems clouded and hazy,
when do we truly drift off to sleep.
Though in not so many words one could say encouragingly,
from dreams comes responsibility.
For now.
I say, I can't trust the words I am telling myself.
Once there was a plant, named in a name a plant wouldn't be named in.
Her scientific name.
That plant used to hate the sun, hate the light, hate water, and hate the land.
Nothing wad loved. or adored from this plant.
It was a life with a lot of tears, and fears.
That plant used to be afraid that it's fardner would know it dosen't love or appreciate the sun, and all.
This plant made a change in her self.
And didn't sleep for a while.
A night came , a sun went . And a flower fell.
Autumn had came.
This plant had fell.
Hard.
Flew away to aplace where she was to go to afraid.
The sea.
I walk down a lone road.
It's cold and dark.
The crisp night air,
Pulling me further from reality.
You call me, concerned,
And like a ship drawn to its lighthouse,
I turn to face you.
But theres another.
More enticing.
Further away for the real world.
It calls out for me.
And like a sailor bieng lured by a siren,
I turn to face it.
It has no eyes.
It has no hair.
It has no face.
Do you want to go on an adventure?
We could do anything we want,
We could go to the Caribbean to hunt for treasure,
To find riches we can flaunt,
To nobles, kings and queens,
We could sail the seven seas,
We could live any life we dream,
We could climb the highest trees,
We could eat the juiciest mangoes,
We could run through Berlin's streets,
We could pet pink flamingos,
We could live in a castle made of receipts,
We would catch a million crabs,
We could slay a thousand dragons,
We could travel to faraway lands,
We could have adventures all day long.
Maybe the waves must glitter for a moment
Till the silence dies of chaotic thoughts
And if then our backs only ever scorch
The spirit of our sceptre lays dormant
Have you felt the lively rush of the waves
Thinking, if only life felt so empty
And then you choose the human remedy
Instead; not for Later's colourless caves?
Later is perhaps our precious dreamer
It is our sole pallbearer in this manner -
Glitter for the holy walls, for a moment.
Maybe the crashing waves must do for now
And leave us until we rise to the ground
That we may accept misfortune's remnant.
Sonnet No. 8