Long pale road....
travel it along,
widen spaces and take the heart...
kept it ice when what it wanted was heat,
Long pale road...
we travel you along,
bare you on feathers...
entwine your veins with iron,
so thy may not be struck again...
I travel far away,
through empty barrens...
and rain that drips away my footprints,
never there...
never talk,
never were...
this feral claws her way on,
on and on...
despite,
what she is...
just because we learn and know something,
does not mean the world stops...
doesn't mean that the trees listen even harder or,
that the wind howls for thy plight...
instead we seek,
knowing we will not find...
not any more,
I walk through colder places...
and I find,
that the voices I hear in the howling wind...
are familiar,
and one must keep straight ahead...
eyes forward to centre,
because if we were to turn...
or pause,
we'd see their yawning grins and eyes...
and realize that the wind is clawing at us to look,
to turn...
just a little bit,
turn to face us...
your shadows and gnawing moths,
instead of forging your way through the darkness...
stop and see,
stop and see...
we don't grieve for people,
we grieve for what we've realized is missing in us...
don't you know,
didn't you...
didn't we all,
know it?
The night it stretches taught...
and for once,
no stars?
No stars...
they were eaten ten thousand seconds ago by thy eyes,
who decided that they looked rather splendid to eat....
gobble up the light,
gobble up the hue...
shades and shades darker within you,
I fancy I hear a bicycle bell...
somewhere in the distance,
on this empty street I walk...
how long you say and where,
have I been walking now...
I don't know anymore,
come now,
was I ever meant to keep the time...?
I stand on a beach...
named Cross,
its' waves stole away the candle inside of me...
long ago,
now we don't fight it...
we just stand and stare and throw bottle,
after bottle...
after bottle,
out into the deep...
did anyone ever tell you dear?
The ocean is made from the bodies of cider and wine bottles...
and we are merely the sower,
the one who casts out...
you cast out your net,
oh absentminded one...
hoping to snag what you already threw away,
what sense is it...
to want what you have destroyed,
and to toss it back once it returns to your grasp...
you bring the grains to feed the flock,
and turn up only to watch them beg...
yet in the last moment,
you keep their bread...
you like to see them wanting.
I race the sound...
I race the wind,
I race my soul...
I runandrunandrun,
until there are no more...
burn every bridge,
slice away every trailing string...
and fill myself,
my lungs and chest and veins...
with gunpowder,
to stop the gnawing...
and the crawling of moths,
until there is silence...
and a breeze,
and a place...
where I can stand,
without gaze holding my shoulders down...
where there are no faces I will have to turn to,
where I can look away from myself...
and see someone better,
and less...
this.
we'll watch the sky-glows now...
and for the next ten nights,
in this tiny harbour...
where the tinnies bob,
and umbrellas laze the day away...
and lights curl from corners and worlds that I have never seen,
we shall stand quietly...
or perhaps,
become the greyhound...
posessed with the runlust,
to gulp in wild air...
and throw yourself into a flight upon the ground,
until every burst of blood inside of you is singing...
and screaming,
and laughing...
you are royal,
as you are...
dear victory hound,
do not give up the chase.
Did you know that our streets are made of gold?
We long for what we already have...
and if one would look between the hours of four and five,
you would see...
the streets paved with gold,
are the rain-drenched pale ones...
beneath our feet.
So run...
and run,
for now...
to know.
Much Love,
Miss CLScarlett xx
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