Matthew Edward Peterson (12/21/1983 / Salt Lake City, UT)

when i dream of darker things(or think)
i believe in nothing more than a rattle
i stray farther from the latter
climbing upward with my aspiration
 
a dark clouded wall
(the kind of bricks and plaster)
blankets in front of me
amidst my walking mind
 
TORTURE TORTURE
as my thoughts weep for they,
cannot carry any further this journey
as i form my process toward conversation
 
i cry as this melting adament
pursuades me into beauties sting
and sings the melody of disruption
crippling forward motion
 
taunt and taint constraining
i cannot sing(like any rose)
i cannot believe(like any blue bird)
i cannot have faith(like any purposed proposal)
 
do not take me away to any land
flaunted with love and compassion
keep me drowning in the washer
and dried by the wind
 
if only the kings of all
could have stayed close to their maker
and faith could have stained its wings
and lying sentenced to execution
 
it is not enough to create in spring
it is not enought to write wondrous things
it is not enough glimpsed in lovers wings
i, for a moment, wish to be set free