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Let me take you to a little place that I define
as the paradise I left behind.
You don't see it as I do.
Eyes aren't made for this.
Transporting my mind to this utopia
of plastic homes and pastel steets.
The place where sunsets rain on overdue frowns
and sprinklers wake to greet you in the morning
when you haven't slept a wink.
In that little cubicle with blood-dripping walls.
A thousand holes in each
where my frozen lovers clung just for me.
I can see so clearly now...
The eccentric eyed child
with two beds each
sitting on the cold floor
and falling through the bottom.
Walking down the soft streets
listening to the train speeding down the edge of the world
chasing my tears.
Gazing at those white christmas lights
etched so firmly in my mind.
Oh when Christmas had a meaning.
Laying down on the stone driveway.
A gift taken so easily for granted.
Staring at the moon that always seemed half full.
My mind gently weeps at these images.
Glittering locusts in the darkness of my life.
It would take a thousand genies to give me what I wish.
Just for a Christmas and a driveway and a neighborhood.
As my tears fall on the paper I think to myself
Places are no longer places, no,
when you've left behind your
years of suffering
years of triumph
years of learning
years of breathing.
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This really wasn't what I expected to come out of the second installment of this series, but I took too much time attempting to write a poem in the same style of the last one and I realized that that was never going to happen.
So I hope you guys like this as well as the last one.
Even though nobody reads this thing...after I tell you all I want you to.
No worries. Someone who gives a s**t will read someday...
 Screaming Lord Byron · Tue Jul 22, 2008 @ 03:33am · 0 Comments |
