Forgotten
Like rotten apples waiting for mouse
Misunderstood by weather patterns
Shaken and jostled
And tossed aside
To be
Forgotten
Tag: pattern
Silent Back Support (day 2405)
When are you going to turn the music back on?
I’ve sat her for a while now
Wondering to myself
Should I suggest a new album
Or enjoy the silent humming
Visiting my ouroboros thought pattern.
I picture something with a nice bassline
Hopefully some creamy smooth lead
That will do a better job
Of snaking my thoughts around
Too many small stools
Lacking proper back support.
Maps (day 2285)
Patterns have become my edges
That take me past zones
And clearly defined counties
Hemmed in with bold lines
That stretch across pastels
And littered with dots
Describing populations
Along zig zagging lines
Connecting the dots
Neatly folded into a rectangular paper.
Infinite Night Sky (day 1167)
A night sky that dances from star to star,
That takes my hand down darker paths,
Down the aisle of no-regrets that hover
Close to cavernous regions of no-ones soul.
A night sky that silhouettes ancient trees
Reflecting what little ambiance echoes out
From unsuspectingly glowing eyes.
A night sky that answers my little questions,
Dangerously scattering edges of hidden thoughts
That crawl to me naked [just like a lover].
A night sky that blinks when I blink,
Slowly remembering the far away feeling
That covers patterns and kaleidoscopes
And fills up my dreaming with geometric simplicity.
A night sky that lets our universe open
Into ten-thousand tiny little flashes
Of infinite brilliance, infinite suggestions
Of which tip-toe lightly to the tune of tranquil.
Exactly 29 Times (day 988)
Mystically speaking, the proverbs are relating accurately;
Horizontally strengthened with the thinnest of threads
Circled around my baby finger exactly 29 times
In a very tightly strewn pattern, accidentally.
Insomniac. Running at top speeds with wild horses;
That old farmhouse sitting amongst poppies and buttercups
Where I’ve lived once before; a feeling from depths unexplainable
Leveraging it’s way amongst modernities.
So it was a callused palm that broke this frozen spell;
Alone upon a park bench of inner city, inner beauty,
Brook bubbling by with homeless and suits (much quicker)
An eye awoke to stretch it’s glorious wings wide.
To which I had never encountered before;
To who I had never held hands with before;
To where I had never stepped in and amongst before;
To here, to this home of a quietly broken fear.
