Post by Avatre on Dec 7, 2004 17:11:51 GMT -5
Slam-type poem...meant to be performed, not read- so if it looks a little funny, read it out loud. ^.~
Matchsticks in the Water
It’s two in the morning and my fingers are combing through memories
Laying in order the black strands of moments in time
Stumbling through drunken eyesight and eyelids that threaten to drop
But my conquesting mind and searching hands
-and that cup of mountain dew at midnight-
leaves me breathless and forced awake like frost rimming the picturesque glass of a winter scene
The snowfall outside is precious
Each snowflake melting in the fire of thought
A fire that springs to life every time it threatens to die
And I’m wheeling in the flickering dance chaotic and a memory in itself until I grab a hold of this life
I’m shuffling into a semblance of crystal lattice structure
A fragile tower of speculation of ‘what did this mean?’
‘this was something dear to my heart, wasn’t it?’
The memory locked away in the millions of the same over same over
Until knocking the box in the corner breaks into my frenzied reverie
Tinkling piano music drifts through stifled atmosphere thick with remembrance
A music box...broken and full of unspoken anger
But I unconsciously close it like all the other bottles of swallowed emotion
Tracing the contours of its dimensions won’t make the world undone
Won’t make regrets turn and come running back
Even when they try to snake a ribbon around the neck
It’s beautiful to drown in
Sifting through a million sentimentals; old morals
A braving of the sea-a metaphore much used because it’s true! in the way the water pulls at you; pulls at your courage
It’s a self-inflicted wound because even though the ocean overwhelms
it’s me who jumped in
A sea of memories, there’s no other words
Because memories are what they are and what I remember
Recall by the line I use to drag them out
One by one
one by one
they visit and disappear
The matchbook girl I envision myself for a second
but shake the thought away with all the wonder in my life
The desire to take out another match and hold each moment until it burns my fingertips
Even when I’m done licking my seared flesh
I’ll pull out another and watch a new flame spring to life
And when the last one goes out
snuffed in the emptiness of yesterday’s promises
My eyes will close in the icy air...
Matchsticks in the Water
It’s two in the morning and my fingers are combing through memories
Laying in order the black strands of moments in time
Stumbling through drunken eyesight and eyelids that threaten to drop
But my conquesting mind and searching hands
-and that cup of mountain dew at midnight-
leaves me breathless and forced awake like frost rimming the picturesque glass of a winter scene
The snowfall outside is precious
Each snowflake melting in the fire of thought
A fire that springs to life every time it threatens to die
And I’m wheeling in the flickering dance chaotic and a memory in itself until I grab a hold of this life
I’m shuffling into a semblance of crystal lattice structure
A fragile tower of speculation of ‘what did this mean?’
‘this was something dear to my heart, wasn’t it?’
The memory locked away in the millions of the same over same over
Until knocking the box in the corner breaks into my frenzied reverie
Tinkling piano music drifts through stifled atmosphere thick with remembrance
A music box...broken and full of unspoken anger
But I unconsciously close it like all the other bottles of swallowed emotion
Tracing the contours of its dimensions won’t make the world undone
Won’t make regrets turn and come running back
Even when they try to snake a ribbon around the neck
It’s beautiful to drown in
Sifting through a million sentimentals; old morals
A braving of the sea-a metaphore much used because it’s true! in the way the water pulls at you; pulls at your courage
It’s a self-inflicted wound because even though the ocean overwhelms
it’s me who jumped in
A sea of memories, there’s no other words
Because memories are what they are and what I remember
Recall by the line I use to drag them out
One by one
one by one
they visit and disappear
The matchbook girl I envision myself for a second
but shake the thought away with all the wonder in my life
The desire to take out another match and hold each moment until it burns my fingertips
Even when I’m done licking my seared flesh
I’ll pull out another and watch a new flame spring to life
And when the last one goes out
snuffed in the emptiness of yesterday’s promises
My eyes will close in the icy air...
