06-26-2016, 01:01 AM
In Cache
Sitting here wrenching out words
That won’t flow, that will flow
Just not today
Not today.
When the sun shines
On the sunflower’s face
After the camellia blooms
Have all fallen and rotted back into the ground.
The words will come to me, swiftly
As the tide rises inside
The realm of poetic phrases.
The corners of sonic awaken the senses
And relics begin to tremble on a shelf,
As syllables drop from tongues
Hitting the terracotta floor.
The words hidden in cache
Will flow
Just not today.
Sitting here wrenching out words
That won’t flow, that will flow
Just not today
Not today.
When the sun shines
On the sunflower’s face
After the camellia blooms
Have all fallen and rotted back into the ground.
The words will come to me, swiftly
As the tide rises inside
The realm of poetic phrases.
The corners of sonic awaken the senses
And relics begin to tremble on a shelf,
As syllables drop from tongues
Hitting the terracotta floor.
The words hidden in cache
Will flow
Just not today.
In your own, each bone comes alive
the skeleton jangles in its perfunctory sleeve....
(Chris Martin)
the skeleton jangles in its perfunctory sleeve....
(Chris Martin)