Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Gardens of Ink

This one I didn't write, it was written for me a long time ago.

When you're dotting i's,
drawing hearts aren't easy
When a mime speaks,
it's usually in the form of a shout

As the ink fade
and the pen drips
The lack to clearly express
the tongue, that's bitten through

When sleeping is only a way
not to face the time of day
although you beg it near

See, horrors write easy -
It's not that love don't slide from my plate,
It's just the page. Clot. Before the ink set

Roses are red & stars are in your eyes
Cliched images I try to provoke from my mind
Still, original feelings are not easy
When truth subside in the old lies...

Like a butterfly - folding your hand over its wings
Gently, not crushing what's within.

Not speaking about it
doesn't mean you do not feel.