Come find me where November sleeps And gives way to December; We'll dance upon the fallen leaves, And no one will remember The heartaches that we lately left The tension, and the sorrow -- Come find me where November yields To what we'll have Tomorrow
She feels him still within this room, So close, she turns to try to see Him smiling there; instead she finds The shadow of a memory That blows in soft, like autumn wind Upon the thoughts that wet her eyes: She feels him, still, within this room, Her face relieved at dropping Its disguise
abandoning what he held dear (because it would not hold him back) he gave it up and moved out here to occupy a different shack than that he'd lived in all these years of yearning for somebody who loved him, if not quite like the sun, a bit more like the rainclouds do
A crunching in the early ice, In boots still wet from yesterday; The day to come, the weeks to go, The task at hand the only way To shut out all the nightmares now. How can you tell what can't be said, Or paint with white upon the snow The dark you fear is just Ahead?
his parents breathed in him their views about the brevity of life; to see the beauty in remains, and hear the music in the strife that blares each day from sound machines that, too, will one day lie in ash like all life's other vanities, the glamor pages turned to trash.
Her heart is still in Tokyo, Though life and love and moved her Across an ocean to a place That maybe has improved her Appreciation for the time, And all her country gave her: She's far these days from Tokyo, But it's still there To savor
i used a bad analogy i thought to be a metaphor but it was an amphiboly and now i'm lost for evermore along the stairway of regret, the hillside of the saracen who lingers on the edge of war, or maybe, bad comparison
Action, taken at a distance Back when such things were in play; Candy, flowers, evanescence -- Dalliance along the way -- Every day and night grew closer, Finally, the engine starts; Grand design and exploration, Hands and torsos without hearts Immature, but fully growing, Jokes and riddles, rhymes and puns, Kisses by the gates of heaven Lasting more than anyone's -- More and longer, yes and better: Navigation by the stars Over seas and undercurrents Past the blurring lights and bars Quick, across the city landscape. Running down the alleyways Sheltering in rain embraces Tension, then release with praise -- Ultimately, finding empty -- Varicose though they might be -- Wandering, and lost in sorrow, Xenia-fed ecstasy -- Youth and pleasure, melting, falling; Zest and foolishness, their calling.
(More from the crew found here.)
they learned to skate on words, and how to fold the silence into shapes and shadows and kaleidoscopes that took them out of that sad place that others thought of as their home. a life of screams and overdrafts escaped by pen and glitter glue: survival's often done with crafts