Your hands are worked,
and feet are worn, but the axis, it did not break. So the years were radical. Life, an economists dream; and with your steady gaze, a simple path it all seemed. I thank you for, the philosophies learned, sitting on porches - farm and lake. Not a word of yours, I hope you know, for granted did I take. Your hands are worked, and feet are worn, the axis, it did not break. The world is still rotating, and we're doing just fine. Your wise and gentle soul, held me together all this time.
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The higher I get,
the closer I feel to you. Knowing the condensed molecules supreme, know the condensed time we'll see. As if they stay afloat, to remind us that something still can. As if she never sank, as if you never ran. You're almost a figment of my imagination. So I fill that void with heartless junkies. They run, run, run, it's normal to be left on empty. A promising pillow to fall onto, so airy and untrue. Still, when I'm up here looking down, with all the clouds, I think of you. Wandering about like a listless soul,
she travels against time, relentless in rewind. I watch her speak with the wicked slow, she doesn't even think, she won't ever know. What have you made of this map, crossing out every way to go, when I'm just trying to leave, but she won't ever know. Millennium's ahead of the moment she calls now, whispers the excuses, but the denial screams loud. The burning of her bruises, and the dead calm in her eyes, flash before me for a second, like I don't see the disguise. What have you made of this map, crossing out every way to go, when I'm just trying to leave, but she won't ever know. Cause she doesn't even think, and she won't ever know. Always they fly,
like birds in the sky, one in a plane, the other driven insane. A family to be, he flew from the scene. Broken pieces, she swept away, consequences, on delay. Puff puff, sniff sniff, gulp gulp. She beyond repair, he returned from the air. A stranger in our eyes, come 'morrow filled with tears and cries. One bird's flight, led the others too near to the sun. A lesson to be learned, you can't always run. Always they fly, like birds in the sky. It's now I who takes flight, out of the dark, and into the light. |
Sydne Kilberg"She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something." Archives
February 2016
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