i feel for constant pulse, to see if im still here. i've seen behind my rosey-eyes, and through your smokey mirror. and though we know what passed is past, with history comes fear. the story goes, from we to woe all starry eyed and sheared.ships may pass in darkest night, but never disappear.
this instance blacked in ignorant bliss when on the darkened water nothing innocent came with that kiss in moments in the standstill spoken words were on the tips and wrapped within our lips, skipped the world with fingers curled, pressed into your skin. i dont know just what you are, but crave your taste again.
so swept away we see in only black and white, and hope for guarantee, but fear to fail and fail to see what's always in between, the only certain truth for me is life in its uncertainty and so the plan is always gray and colors meant to change, in binary behind blue eyes that only see in green and greet each sun in smirk and smile under sheets or in denial. tried and tuned, the tired few all felt the burn in dual, the only certain jewel in life, is life's uncertain truth.
we only play with fire. intrigued anonymous, infatuation at its finest behind those vegas eyes and sinners mile. blinded by the cheshire smile in the city lights and every souls desire. arm in arm along the way but only in denial, black and blue the words from who, but only for a while. i am i and you are you, but who are we to know the truth if only mortal in the sun, but true forever still to some. anonymous in love.
in the end we remember in flashes of sudden memorial as inherent feelings of loss come 'cross the bow. a kiss for the living, minor madness by your side in brief moments in time for which the brevity of such account can not compare to the breadth and the breathless loss of mind. all those moments add up to all those people and all those places, the words we've said to those we've loved and the ones that never met the ears of the ones we might have. the sum of all the do's and don'ts, the wishes, whispers, and secrets never told is all the endings and beginnings that a lifetime holds.
and you know them all so well...all those dreams you used to have of faces faded in horizons, open roads and sun stained rogues. burnt forearms leaning out the windows all alone. stop, then go. the wild faces with wider smiles linger along the miles. raspy voices strung, slung with scratchy laughter from all the smoky lounges and jukebox romance that line the interstate islands. talks on loves from yesterdays past after yesterday has passed and the drowning sun admits to all the myth your mind could offer. until at last, amidst the chalky wisdom you become a ghost and disappear to only dusty memories to all those open arms. vagrants of the road. and on. and on.
i wonder. to find god in an empty room when it’s been so long since i've set foot in a holy house, i doubt one would remember my name. i think there’s something i've searched for, been searching for a long time but i'd be remiss to tell you i had any sort of finite grasp on what exactly "it" is. i'd settle just to say there is something missing. there must be more to this. in all my thought i've come across more questions, and questions rise to questions. faith is a dangerous word i've questioned mine for all time and lost it in the process. now i can sit here over the low lit crackling burn of this cigarette and promise you that this inherent faith of mine lies somewhere in the great unknown, i only hope that when the smoke clears and the ashes strung out in front sting the ground that i'll find some sign in all of it, my cavalier christ. maybe i'm asking too much, but hell...you never know what might come out in conversations with strangers in the dark. you could learn more about yourself in five awkward minutes than a lifetime of comforts and picturesque made beds. i like to dream that there are still some originals out there. it’s hard to see, hard to hope it’s not a hoax. harder still to tell what’s real and what feels coming around any corner with the snowfall of false truths and idols on the firing line. the best thing to do is take it all in stride, say always what’s on your mind. move on, and keep moving on in these streets of old gold storefronts and twenty-something teenage icons that line the curbs. right here for the taking, right next to all our faded jeans and washed out American dreams.
on rainy days they met afar in peripheral bliss, but when those lonely eyes would lock in the briefest of standstill, they would always only know their lives were parallel, distilled in knee deep wish. the game they played, they fanned the flame until the smoke dismissed; and then one day, one went away, no look, no word, no kiss. the first lie and the last goodbye, immortal for the end of time.
home is marked with signposts, stretched along the roads. home is all their faces, and voices over phones. home is in the pages. home is in the hearts, of lovers and like minds, and spans the world for all time. home is everywhere I am with them in mind. home is on my own. home is dusted in smiles and goodbyes
we've all painted pictures of the only past we've known and the further we get the more we grow, the more we turn to stone in memorial of all the colors we once wore. all lives were once upon a time. we've all drawn lines from the past to remind that lives intersect. that all souls are lost. that we've all seen through the eyes of the poet, the preacher, the pariah, and admired the inherently hopeless romance in each our faded past. all to remember to press through cool calamity where saints and angels sing in the name of god on the radio.
too fast tonight for the faces of angels, but high by the grace of gods on the radio. and the roads melt by. and the sky is met by lights and flashing signs. neon chords. open eyes. no time for time, so hold on tight. the voice of god on the radio is yours and mine.
in the shadow of a storm
in sadness she's a silhouette
to be set free
in smoked degrees
dream to not forget
goodbyes were never to be good at, so let's never say them. let us abandon hope, all ye who guarantee belief in death and taxes. turn out your tired, huddled masses unto unconvention, put out the sleeping ashes. awake the jaded from faded funeral plots, pour hearts in revolutionary fashion. exalt in passion for the only souls to know. the nomads. the hot blooded. the tried and true who never say goodbye so long as youth and truth and vintage clashes.
i believe in lust. trust in infatuation. breathe in closed door conversations, brief encounters never rust. blessed be the dreamers, candid be the rogues, living lives in snapshots, cause a smile stays in vogue. and by the night, all come to life. cameos exposed.
a hope for home, a hope for a soul to grab ahold. that soul is not your own, nor mine, no more than piece of mind collected over time, in many times and many other "mines". a box of benevolence twined and twisted through the eyes and eras some divine, some wicked. somewhere in the ether, offshore beneath the seen, the answers that you seek will never set you free.