i hate livejournals - March 29th, 2009

the radio is trying to make some point with trains and death.
i 've books and books strewn about, reading 5 interchangably
going cross eyed and becoming less cross
i finally believe what you said.
and i know what i want.
and i'll get it.
i've won the bet, i've paid the price
soon i will reap the rewards.
and i'll make them repent.
i have been carving away at this land
making it into my won image
of what it ought to have been
and i speak volumes of my land
didn't you once tell me
you wanted to see it through my eyes
throw your bastard beliefs to the wind
define it rather then be defined by her.
defy the lines you were colored into
provoking that manifest destiny feeling?
was it not destiny?
i've never seen a dreamer with eyes shut tighter
you've hanged pan with a necktie
an alligator just ate the concept of time
and now he's hungry for you
somewhere between landlocked and lost at sea
addressing the breezes and raindrops to a memory back east
gives you all the more reason to stay locked inside
shackled to port window to a world that does not exist
and you protest the feelings.
and you're startled by mirrors
and it's not any clearer
you're growing to fear her.
allow me to steer.

It seems as though
your dialogue has faded
and you're left with
scattered soliloquies
addressed to the mold
on the floor.

Perhaps it has achieved
conciousness at this
late stage in it's growth.
you hope it will be bold enough
to answer your pleas.

But still you speak in riddles
because the truth frightens you.
you wouldn't leave your chair
if it weren't for those blue jays
guuiding you.

Down the dirt path
to your seat by the pond
the music in your head
plays perfect counterpoint
to the scene around you.

The careful rhythms of
autumn leaves falling
Brown and dead, readly to
carpet the earth beneath your feet
seems to match the cadence
of the soft bass music in your ears.

You close your eyes and
let your body fall
to the ground and regret
the months spent
chained to your chair

Tied to the misery of
imagined despair.
"I'll change tomorrow"
you quietly resolve
always tomorrow
a better version of you awaits.

You've handcrafted
pefection that exists
only for youself.
For shame another
know such beauty.

...