One thing I've learned is
You cannot rush poetry,
Just as you can't
Predict the stroke of a brush
Or tell from the start
If the paper fits the pencils blunt tip,
Its like asking to know a story
Without reading the book
It's like a fish and a line
Where both of us are hooked.
And I kept trying to make a point
Out of sand,
And as powder does
It disappears from me
Leaving traces of it presence
But never enough still.
All I need is the right pill
But perhaps it doesn't come in a bottle
Of all the therapeutic remedies,
Its more envigorating to trottle woes.
And I won't stop till I've had my stay
No you heathen,
I will not wait another day
For who am I
To insist upon perfection,
If we've already lost the will to love ourselves.
Like...
The race of tears across the skin,
We wish this was the speed at which pain resides.
I've said so much and yet nothing at all, always forgetting to smile.
Toss these letters into space may they dazzle for miles.
I
gnite me where there is no spark
Open my eyes to what you think
My soul needs to see,
Until
Pure Glee
Becomes enough
To placate my scars.
So while we can sit on the moon
And gaze at the stars,
We'd be too close to see the constellations.
