i close my eyes and look for mountains. alone i see the stars. somewhere i hear my name. all in all it's all in range. take it on for all mistakes and past unpleasant pleas. no glory in un-futures made, no blessings by the sea. again i'll scrape the stars in silent me.
it's been easy to be lost lately. or distracted, unfortunately with open arms. i feel the winter faded into new faces, wide eyed conversations ending dually meaningless when the finish couldn't suit the start. a taste of welcome spring, skin on skin in star-crossed flings, renewed in flesh and bone and the sweet heat spells in ventures far from home. on we go for foreign wild fare, as the cool breeze blows and spring slowly drags its toes to summer, for freedom, in dog days we dare.
too distracted. always infatuated. everything unknown is all i'll love. everything i've loved is now unknown.
it's strange this year, must be the place; things are coming up, or out, or back, things put in the past. people put in the past. songs that always held their spot in tangible torn off corners of my other lives. the desire for newer, brighter bindings feels lately fading, stemmed from lack of new findings I suppose and I consider the winter’s got me down and indisposed. the winter got me close. this year the winter bought the most in months of earnest mornings and solo midnight toasts. hours into light and feeling in the dark for ideas of fate. of faith and finding. positivity from all my faulty sides. some say faith is futile, some feel faith divine, but here I am for faith is just a question, and your belief in a strangers nod. in that sense, suspect the face of every stranger brings to you the face of god, and every foreign road should find you with a smile, knowing. you've been known. maybe now, maybe once, maybe all those eyes along the road were all yours before. I think the beauty in it all is the lack of answers, and life's only finite shine , is that it's all abstract. in bleeding over fate I've found that you find your choices in your day, they do not find you gripping, hanging on in faded jeans for glory and fatalist whims. we don't blow with the wind, and though the romance ripens in my blood, everything I have loved has been found by constitution in that only I decide I; and here I place nostalgia, here I take my name. these feelings all inherited, these feelings built the flame. this year I reach for firmament, and from the vault I'll pry.
the fault in conditions is the fault in all our faces; a famous lack of understanding, of unconditional terms, traced back to unbelievable words in moments when vulnerability hurt the worst. all of this becomes default, and framework for declarations of disbelief. the hardest one to love in uncondition is you, and only in periods, long, and sometimes lonely periods of strength through self study and big questions stared out bigger windows into the biggest backyards do we dare to even dream to love ourselves as much as someone else once has. this is as difficult to accept as to conceive, and many will live full lives as only silhouettes; but, those questions stem to answers, and answers to understanding, understanding bridges change and soon we form shadows in those same old window frames, in bright light and adoration. the process is what paints us, the picture presents us to the world.
it started with a song. from ancient to annuity, back before we knew at all. now in this glass reflections stain the places that we saw. left a mark in circles drawn concentric, and though clandestine times they knew me by, the center started small. now i am, then i was, and here we are memorials each dawn. the bleeding back prolific, the trials, tears austere. it started with a song and now they're all for here. so smile back, a while back, a toast to you and years.
Some of my favorite moments are melancholy
my secret songs all sad ones.
catch my breath between the lines,
all strung out,
hung out in other eyes.
come now, the stoned superlative.
I can come as close to god in any three letter word as any drowned out drunk believes. holy spirits, high stakes, graceful saints in shambles shading smooth poetic truths. they stumble through the tall grass in broken shards and bleed to bliss. mumbling hymns for sinners. holy wars, for holy ghosts, from holy waters spoke. they come in three, to blind believe a word a god alone.
with words, and only words to make all of lifes perfectly poignant truths, in form and finality, from ubiquitous to clear and conspicuous, in light of each our candid course.
from a booth, a smile in periphery and carbonated laughs after adrenaline. we breathe from the top of the world, with the cold come down, all faces flush. the rosy red blessing and its timeless cheers. we came, we're here, the darkest night became our light. from a booth, in periphery we smirk at second sight.
given a small room for a vast becoming in every matter of the heart. a year contended and torn across a fence as all the places ahead, all acquainted friends and faces, and all the words find places left behind in a hurry as if anointed in only small talk and waning, waving hands all headed for our wastelands. the thoughts of lonely people in array, the streets all lined in fear. hearts afraid to brass, we'll all just disappear. in little box, in little room, and smile faintly in disguise. these lonely lost can't help but find, their numbered days, one year in time.
these trailing months in their life-white veil to fade the front let hindsight thrive in cold sole nights to forward face the day and let us prey on past discord. rest easy under warmth in sheets of resolve to better brave new faction. let history be only the tool to take us back in spectral observation when lack of sight shows not where we're led. no ghosts today, no past tomorrow. hold in heart the amity of you and you. winter will reflect in accord with bright of snow, hold close for heat those holy hours when you are your retreat.
I sit here solemn under skull & bones among these colors, caught by corner consciousness. in good winter wonder, love, what revolution must have held for us. in bottom bottles and pinprick baited breath, I struggle still to leave forever what's been left when only Christmas creaks could last.
from today, my quiet corner splashed in sun exalted and the news that smiles back, from miles back for time, I find, today I wander back. this window warmth, this black is silk and soothing, so that all the lives I've lived and left before me effloresce.
we left in pieces once rendered from such malign, from token majesty to new chapters, in lead strokes from pencils across oceans I can never erase a past, but I'm always left remembering, and in that quiet gale unsteady state of mind I think back to the beaches and our ready, set, decline. the past was all once rendered and the drawings cast aside we walked along the beach with reason, and the sea that stole our rhyme.