something happens in a week across the country 75 miles an hour and the windows up. city after city with the illusion of sleep, in the same hotel bed coast to coast. rest stop routines, dark circle eyes on horizon we're only chasing. that old dream of On The Road a little distant daily, maybe it only was a dream. maybe its the midwest. maybe all these years have burned the fortune. maybe I'm just tired.
I've sat in circles, in the center of the room with faces flush for conversation in a way I've always known. The walls have ways of fading, the faces all grow faceless. Their words yet spilling where their formless mouths believe, in these rooms I've all but left, watch my starry eyes recede. I've gone to all the spaces, to find the in-between.
Live a life where the goodbyes are always Irish, and the warmth in your cold blue eyes is what they're reminded of when the sound of your voice strikes their mind, and the dramatic line of your smile sets in to surpass all questions of "Why?". Believe only in the chances you took, not the ones you had; breathe only heartfelt in reminiscent minutes.
a choice, in defeat of all design. always a choice to dance around your fleeing mind. but left to chance, a choice is felt to pass, a crime to wave goodbye.
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.
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.
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.
such eager sleep i'm drawn, arms outstretched for dawn. we'll never reach, we'll never speak. the shore outlines the fall. in melted days before, arms outstretched i loved in all my worst and kissed in all my best so sleep for now and sleep forever melt along the shore. if we cold only speak the beach was just a moor.
this blessed binary, this only other self. person and persona through the encore every day. the past at last will come to play, but in the hours in between who forever came to stay?
sing a silent night,
sing a holy chord.
the silence all alone at night,
the silence all a chorus.
feign and reign and blessed thou,
blessed are the bright.
in eyes and lies
the truth to stand
draped in holy style
a vein that runs through me that still belongs to you, and when i tap that rush, that flood, that fools excuse...so only now i'll whisper still the truth that pours to chill; this place it taps a vein in me that still belongs to you.
but who are you in the dark? when all the world stops watching, the only voice your own, to reign on ghosts alone. born to bear the weight, the albatross, dare to sleep with whiskey on your breath, and flashes of sudden memorial from past loves and pressure on your chest. the path a sullen iteration in the form of regret and a self portrait, tired eyes and torrid stories hanging duly from your neck. when you lie alone where do you wander? to the future infatuated, the past in penance, or present times for preservation. stoned nomadic, for the minds a wily bastard on nights each pale horse rides.
always infatuated on my time with certain smiles, bags under my eyes. define that shade of red, and the way it kissed the sky. the lines are blurred objective ere the early stages rest, imagination onward wanders as all such rogues are blessed, to stop and spell the names of all the loves, dressed for death each holy night.
the greatest years are yours.
the greatest years are here and always.
the greatest year's inside and wear appellant eyes.
in endless eerie echoes, the greatest years you'll find.
look at last how bright the path, how dark the twisted pine.
the greatest year so yet to bless. the greatest years forget.