Matters of Time

This was such a fucking pain in the ass. I couldn't post this the way that I actually want it to be seen. There are, depending how you look at it, more than one poem here. The stanzas didn't originally have these fucking lame colours that are really not cool for at least two reasons. Ideally, the poems of the same colour would have been on seperate sides of the page, mirroring each other. This was the best I could do however. Fuck.

Shining high and fully grown
Overtaking what once was unknown
Racing, blooming, here them now sing
Breath and open to the beauty you bring

Hanging on but gives a flutter
Joyful confessions start to stutter
Touch the air, smell decay
Eyes to see, there is no other way

Frost inside, the home far gone
Trails behind, that premature sun
Blue and empty the cold wind blows
Falling and closed, embrace the snows

Soft and steady, starts the melt
Limbs remember, what once they felt
Cold recedes, driven from the earth
Begin renewed, take hold the rebirth

Digest the fossils,
To make sure it lasts
But creatures of habit,
Always die in their pasts.

Lips self-stitched,
To pace through hierarchies.
Drown with their Sirens,
Or float with poetries.

Aborted romantics,
Endings broken hearted.
Voice kept with singing,
Songs for the dearly departed.

Cellophane gentleman,
With smiles oh so see-through.
You’re dancing alone,
Only the blind may read you.