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Open Poetry #38
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scenes from lives we remembered to be our own.
| Open Poetry #38 |
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scenes from lives we remembered to be our own. |
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elisalie16 Member
since 2006-07-12
Posts 118new jersey |
this is by far my longest work, and will most likely be the longest piece i ever write, but it just all kept running through my head and i had to keep writing ------- the stereo's pulsing out a song we used to have memorized so well we had forgotten all about it and we're lazily driving down these sun soaked roads that are dripping with all the lucky passings by we lived for and thrived off of during a near-by past that seems to me to be more like a dream or a story i was read as a child before i fell asleep. thoughts along that subject-line now cause our restless eyes to search and scan the sidewalks and faces in a zealous frenzy of screaming inside our heads and cravings that tingle in our feet and compell us to run away from what we used to gravitate so strongly towards. the haze of light slowly leaving the sky sketches a whispy charcoal smile on my face when i realize the air feels just like it did on those nights when we saw ourselves as more complete than any of us will ever imagine coming close to again. it was when the apocalypse appeared before us daily and by the time night had come to blanket us had been forgiven and shoved aside with the breaking of bottles and the starry-eyes who spoke in steady purrs erased all threats real. we're sitting on benches and acting out scenes where the shadows paint faces and the significance is in whatever our hands can hold and our throats can swallow for the time being. the faces of the shadows flash and smirk up on the deck behind a house we call our own but know as less and although they seem to only hold the tone of cheap imitation scented with wine i draw the parallels and connect the dots to see they're the golden revolutions of a recycled story-line and that every so often life's set has to repeat itself. the legends of a life deeply loved, got crossed by a girl still young enough to view the wanton minds that whirred themselves into knots and all the stories these minds were in as a brush with something unmatched by any other place she could go. we're talking in rooms, legs crossed, pointed in wringing our hands out of habit, as usual without any relevance to our words. the light that glows off the walls always resembles a more noteable darkness and the sentences we speak always trip back to a previous conversation where they held the meaning they deserved. we light a fire and i fold myself behind a hood as blue eyes peak out from behind curtains to watch what happens and i huddle my shoulders and shove my clenched hands in torn pockets, regardless of the temperature. i guess i'm always shivvering or shrugging at something whether it exists or not. smoke clouds rise from fires to expand against a sky lit backdrop that should be black although sometimes we just can't quite get it that dark anymore. that song's still playing and we're staring at nothing while we move our lips in silent verse and blink far away eyes at clocks we're not reading tilting our heads to one side ,as we remember the nights we couldn't ever catch in ink or find the hidden meanings to. i'm shaking my head and submitting corrections, or new mistakes to keep occupied while i try to make myself believe the facts i've proved over and over again, that every golden age turns to tarnished metal and jumbled, fuzzy recollections and the scenes we cued ourselves into, to live those lives as best we could see how, were no more contemporary or induvidually dedicated when we were running through fields and dancing on sidewalks, gliding down highways than they will sound when we recite their lines to those who could never understand the electricity of it all from our fenced in gardens in tired gray age. ---- if you read all that, thank you, i'd love to hear any and all of your opinions and whatever. ----anne. [This message has been edited by elisalie16 (07-20-2006 03:13 PM).] |
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| © Copyright 2006 Anne - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Snowflake From Hell Senior Member
since 2003-07-10
Posts 777My own little Icey Oblivion |
long indeed like you said but well worth the read Hollow heroes seperate as they run...Shadows linger in your pain dead and done |
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elisalie16 Member
since 2006-07-12
Posts 118new jersey |
ahh thank you |
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themute Member
since 2006-05-08
Posts 469Maryland |
wasn't that long, it was interesting though, reminds me of stories of the sixties I am the two-toed wanderer |
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elisalie16 Member
since 2006-07-12
Posts 118new jersey |
stories of the sixties? |
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