05-13-2013, 07:43 PM
As I sit here
My mind stubling through the un-
even solid concrete slabs of my memory;
I try to grasp their papery thin form.
I try to gaze at the shape of paint,
on this ash eaten, fading canvas.
Here it comes. The flame. The pepper shaker.
The monsoon, with dry rain that leaves you even more thirsty.
Burning, dotting, dreamily washing away the canvas.
One thousand times I've dreamed,
and I've seen, heard, felt you. So ghostly real.
One thousand times I've heaved,
and beamed that, for a twinkling, I could artificially feel.
One more, now cracked, slab slips into nothingness,
the holed path between now and that day,
that which bids my feet to forget their burning pain.
My mind stubling through the un-
even solid concrete slabs of my memory;
I try to grasp their papery thin form.
I try to gaze at the shape of paint,
on this ash eaten, fading canvas.
Here it comes. The flame. The pepper shaker.
The monsoon, with dry rain that leaves you even more thirsty.
Burning, dotting, dreamily washing away the canvas.
One thousand times I've dreamed,
and I've seen, heard, felt you. So ghostly real.
One thousand times I've heaved,
and beamed that, for a twinkling, I could artificially feel.
One more, now cracked, slab slips into nothingness,
the holed path between now and that day,
that which bids my feet to forget their burning pain.