Words mean little to
The dead language of dreams
Where color takes significance
Over the value of all else.
...
Between the hidden fruits
And secret fires
The untamed mists clear
A paths, lightly tread
...
The silence of night
pulls at the strings
of my heart.
her dark expanse
...
The poet dreams
As he makes his way
Through streets paved
With the screams of children.
...
The night sinks below the horizon
To dance alone with the stars
(I wait for you, my love
with an empty heart)
...
I tread ashes and amber flowers
Lilly hills, and melancholy truths
As the ritual of my legs
Is preformed with fatal accuracy
...
The ink is long since dry
And the pens are all gone
The eyes have stopped looking
It’s been written so long.
...
The wheels have been stopped
And the machinery no longer works
Like it once had, in the days of gold,
Long since gone by.
...
When the sky matches the day
And things seem to be in balance
Because the heavens are a dark gray
Our hearts are weighted down
...
What type of magic
Is there in the names
We give numbers?
...