CarnEvil

Friday, October 4, 2013

it's like this

it's the fierce shift between forth and fifth,
keys change , heads lift ,
and tomorrow's sorrows like a subtle lisp ...

as another love subtly rolls by,
his tender heart silently cries,
and you ask what's it's like ?

anyone can write ,  it's ink on paper and experiences in life,
placed and paced down over extensive devotion of movements of emotions...

there's a time for us all ,
a time to stand down and fall ,
and I am all about not giving up
but
love has it's way of seeping in whether i like it or not
and now I am convinced
that I've found you
and time is at its best

simple things love ,
simple things ,
like your shoes ...
like my eyes
and the way they shine
when you're reflected in them,
all the wine and time
where the faces blur
but you know
you're a prodigy like
wind through the hair
or the memory scents
in fresh cut grass
and the child like ways that linger there
and the children's care free childhood cares


someone , if they could please tell her , to not take so much time,
just in case if she wants to grace this heart ,
for more then the time
it takes for me to
wait...

because I am tired,
but still I am convinced that I've found you ,
oh the distractions of those memory scents
makes one want to exist but...
wait ..
it's like this ...

Written for the OctPoWriMo






Sunday, July 21, 2013

Find me...

I stood on the shore and listened to the water splash gently against the broken pieces of the concrete that had been placed there by hands that were not my own.Hands with artistic ways.
I looked out across a vast landscape of water and clouds and thought of all the things that didn't belong to me.

Things that existed that I couldn't touch or see.
Things that were acquired or purchased, second hand,
in an attempt to find an era , a place in time that was not now.
I looked down, through the distasteful water and saw pebbles brought downstream with the current.


..where the river meets the bay ,that's where you will find me.
Locked away in a lonesome floating cottage , rainboy with a pen in the hand.
Humming a tune that has been stolen from another place in time,
a house borrowed, second hand ,from an era that was not mine.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Chant


Kicking over open bottles,

ready for throat-torn melody,
closing doors and listening...

chant for those who drank,

their own dreamed heavens,
seams tattering, threads untangling...

chant for stardust on skys floor,

twinkling white under carelessly,
dropped from lips of a cigarette...

chant for those in full body lust,

looking for true moments,
tasting frozen seconds like water...

If nothing else, chant for me ,

because my head is spinning,
and I"m dying to dance...

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