[A paper to write on, read from and burn
is a to-do list like no other
Magnificent wings intensify these flames
as pieces fly softly across a silent doorstep]
No summers pass in this time
only a noticeable change of season
just now
Now I've written and then hidden
so many times; the spoon hangs itself
again, again (again)
Again wiping greasy hands on aprons
with violent strings brings dramatic endings
only sometimes
Sometimes it's a big, glass birdcage in full view
perch and swing excelling acrobatics
ever, always
Always tempt me (sometimes); do it now, make it quick
before friends across tables present truth
in abundance
Understanding is the ultimate proof; chaotic mostly
A past fills the phone, steadily, with dread
forever, maybe ...
Maybethis is the problem:
{Gold alerts for life's fulfilment; sinking liquid from that moment
It brings fuzzy logic and a feel-good-anywhere vibe that soothes the pain
and patronising terms of endearment can be gratefully replaced
Over-riding guts strew themselves on golden walkways
Screaming intuition at scuffed paint and false glitter
A shot can be colourful; and needed and distracting
It can also be grey and edgy; nondescript
Wake up! It's 11:11 am/pm
The wrong attitude takes it all for granted too soon
and it's the only thing that finally fires through my apathy
raising a Lion's anger against a Lion's pride
and then call it some more - a bluff?
A reet game it is - but I don't play for soul bets
just fun - where did that go?
It doesn't exist above your grave, that's for sure
Organic salt travels across the pavement
dissolving more of the paint where it falls
Keeping the pleading entrails in their place
behind the line - for now
But they will mutate and crawl across it soon
It's a sure thing]
Eager for visions of Azure blue under Michaels gaze
Calling flames to return to flickers in beautiful eyes
In calming oceans of lucky breaks and pride restored
Anger recedes with tides of cool waters
Sent away on the breeze of airs purest thoughts
And the earth itself leaves us steady in our roots
as nourishment retreats once more to its purpose
Problem solved either way - may/maybe/mayhaps
Guts are often gutted
Hearts are often atrophied
Lungs are often devoid of pure air
I hope I'm not alive before I die ...
That line has been stuck in my head for weeks
Like the unconsciousness that tempts a bleeding brain
Feeling dead - or was it trapped inside?
Succinctly thinking about the clarity of vanity
and vagueness; a hopeful drop of faith
and maybe a letting go?
Born this morning (not again)
It hurt and brought anger
More than a snooze button
on the incessant ringing in my ears
Alarm bells - I've been ignoring them for ever
and a once eager soul
now seems as disinterested as the melting snow
It'll harden again in Winter - why?
and continue to kill and sadden anything in its creeping wake
I'll sit here no longer, waiting for it to play on repeat
There are ten thousand things to do
and I've got ten thousand thoughts in my head
no more and no less - maybe one extra (give or take)
they funnel into a consolidated idea
A notion of freedom from judgement
and a wall against the pain
I stand to gather the bricks
~ Samantha Rae 2010
SRWB 2010
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