my fingers are dripping with masterpieces yet to be written
where reality ends and my imagination begins, somewhere beyond the neverland
dreams only to be grasped by invisible fingers, truth penetrating my sleepless night
waking up short of air only to wish the air would prove itself to be a nightmare
in a shack on the side of the road between yesterday and today
i rested in the contentment of knowing what the future might hold
yet wishing i could comprehend how much this path would wind and twirl 'round my fingers
the wind came and blew away my sentiments briskly and i'm left with the figurative clothes on my back
symphonies yet to be sung, falling off my lips
oh my dear, what a well composed appearance of a song!
desires once exposed by desperation, now enmasked by a facade
perhaps one day my heart will be safe enough to again bask in the sun.
desires to show myself worthy come kicking to the surface
what would it feel like to be immortalized in stone, like a god? (am i allowed to think that?)
once in a while it seems acceptable to wonder and wander and ask myself if i could be this infamous
greed and lust for fame overtake me and i am quickly disinterested
it took thousands of miles,
four cities,
and hours of sentiments
in a foreign land
to truly get me home.
tragic flaws
oh, don't mind me sitting here.
i know i seem to be alone, but he's coming.
i'm another ignorant romantic casualty.
who knew i'd be fooled even again?
oh my love, i can't wait to be reunited.
the stories i have to tell you! the things
that have been left unsaid...i'm beside myself
in anticipation.
my romeo will be here shortly.
he said he was coming soon...do you see him?
i can't seem to find him on the horizon.
but he said he would come, so don't worry.
must i be reminded that even romeo had a tragic flaw?
maybe you were never there, my dear.
i know i seem to be alone, but he's coming.
i'm another ignorant romantic casualty.
who knew i'd be fooled even again?
oh my love, i can't wait to be reunited.
the stories i have to tell you! the things
that have been left unsaid...i'm beside myself
in anticipation.
my romeo will be here shortly.
he said he was coming soon...do you see him?
i can't seem to find him on the horizon.
but he said he would come, so don't worry.
must i be reminded that even romeo had a tragic flaw?
maybe you were never there, my dear.
playing disaster
ambivalence measure in fragmented broken utterances
extravagant things to be said with lackluster words
confusion professed in a purposeful manner
and nobody seems to know what i'm trying to say.
i'm just attempting to orchestrate
a sweetly distressed symphony
something that tickles, then bites the ears
only for the purpose of opening your eyes for a minute
i'm tapping my conductor's baton and now
here comes my brilliant orchestra with ready minds and open hands
are you listening? to the much fuller version of myself
with spilled accidentals and failures
and backstabbing sharps and disappointing flats
as i raise my hands to play disaster...
will someone please point out that i'm in the wrong key?
extravagant things to be said with lackluster words
confusion professed in a purposeful manner
and nobody seems to know what i'm trying to say.
i'm just attempting to orchestrate
a sweetly distressed symphony
something that tickles, then bites the ears
only for the purpose of opening your eyes for a minute
i'm tapping my conductor's baton and now
here comes my brilliant orchestra with ready minds and open hands
are you listening? to the much fuller version of myself
with spilled accidentals and failures
and backstabbing sharps and disappointing flats
as i raise my hands to play disaster...
will someone please point out that i'm in the wrong key?
self-diagnosis
i don't quite know exactly what i'm trying to accomplish by sitting down and writing this piece that is pouring involuntarily out of my fingertips. and maybe i won't resolve it, since that seems to be the way to make an impact nowadays.
maybe i'm looking to my writing to expose something that i can't seem to uncover by internalizing my examinations. perhaps there's some kind of excavation i'm seeking to produce from this. who have i become? who are you? what should i do about the situation? what is the situation? and will i spend the rest of my time and my words on questions that i'll never answer?
so this is my diagnosis: i think entirely too much. but maybe i won't resolve it this time, since that seems to be the way to make an impact nowadays.
maybe i'm looking to my writing to expose something that i can't seem to uncover by internalizing my examinations. perhaps there's some kind of excavation i'm seeking to produce from this. who have i become? who are you? what should i do about the situation? what is the situation? and will i spend the rest of my time and my words on questions that i'll never answer?
so this is my diagnosis: i think entirely too much. but maybe i won't resolve it this time, since that seems to be the way to make an impact nowadays.
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