Melodies are galleries of imagination,
Passion, weaved in potpurries of rhythmic sensation,
The juicy journey of chronic chaos
Clouds up my notions, coaxes and wheedles my emotions;
A leaf-strewn pathway, hewn with memories swept aside,
The cages of my ages ruffle as pages nuzzle my sighs,
I have to admit, never have I had it so nostalgic,
It's hard to imagine how music revisits the magic,
A flickering lamp, sets up camp, in rule of his pool of yellow,
My mind has finally left behind, all reminders of sorrow,
Eyes closed, hands crossed, I exhaust my lids to the frost and the crooning cello,
That sings and brings back things I lost; and smiles and awkward hellos.
And as I sleep, unseen, serene, conveniently incognizant,
I suddenly breathe in things unclean, I taste anti-depressants,
A gasp unclasps my lips and out splashes the blissful lie
The melody stops, the past fades out, and I open an eye.
The present repels with its drab ongoings
The future terrifies with its murky misgivings
The past is all that beckons me
Through my darkest melodies.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Blots
Poesía[On hold] Key: |Straight Brackets| - Poetry. \Tilted Brackets/ - Passionate, Vaguely Poetic Prose or Free Verse. ~Wave Brackets~ - Poetry specifically between 1 and 3 sentences in length. ☆☆ For everyone, Who finds, Not in a graveyard or cretamorium...
