I am the little spoon
That lives in the hill,
Scalloping hoodwinks
With masterful might.
An age old tradition
My father’s father told,
Forgiveness unheard to
Plant out my soul,
For I am the little spoon!
Happy lives fold.
Yet here I am
Amongst leftover pine,
A scraggly drain
In a dirty edged pond,
Mystery splashes
To my father’s better half,
Which I cannot explain anymore.
Which I ply with my little spoon.
Tag: drain
Sad Letters at Long Lasts Door (day 1023)
Did my letters long convince your soul
That all was lost amongst our hearts?
Pleasure drained upon the floor
And my eyes sore, my eyes are sore.
Balance shifted which throws me off.
What once was art is burning hearts
To leave me scarred, aghast; true horror.
And my eyes sore, my eyes are sore.
Like laughter in wicked eyes of crows,
It shelters me not, my sorrow cloak.
And fill my heart with dust and sand
And my eyes sore, my eyes are sore.
To wake again my soul at long last,
To deliver my forgiveness upon deaths door.
You were never mine, but I cared evermore.
And my eyes sore, my eyes are sore.
Let Go Now (day 499)
Your poems that crisscross across the edges of my face
Make me feel like the angels have descended
Deep down within the glory hold of the champions heart
Sweet songs emanate out from the edges of sanity
Calling me closer to swim amongst the water lilies
The pond grows thin here, shallow waters and bright reflections
But along the other edges of my face
I see the enemy that crawls slowly closer
I remind him of the fortune that seeps down the drain
While I wash my face in the mornings hour
Now here, like the lost words of a lovers sweet embrace
Like the tiny footsteps that makeup the dust paths across the desert
I fall carelessly in pattern as I saunter along this path
I let the slow beds spoil their innocent laughter
With hands touching hands, faces touching faces
Elbows coming inwards in a bitter withdrawal
Like ghosts that see their reflection one last time
All too short and all to sweet and all too massive
Nobody can really understand that which hasn’t been told
We all feel from within the distance that doesn’t lay the crackers down
Little paths to find their way home after the soldier has been caught
Sing now in the morning of the next phase of life
Sing now as the passive monsters blow out the landscape: serene
Sing along thy empty beaches as they float on home towards the setting sun
Sing on now for the ones that hold their hands out in mercy
Crying after the last golden rays escape the tired pillow’s eyes
Holding onto the blankets that will not let go now