A Struggle of Dimensions

My thoughts were once fish, yet
Stretch legs from bare bones,
From weak, unceasing whispers-
A destiny called forth.

Fledgling ripples, unrelenting blooms-
They peel away at the subtle veil,
Rising, unstoppable, tangled
in the ancient shadows, the stranded light

dancing on the surface,

crumbling in mild conversation-

All but the movement of a subtle line;
Still is the pale night, above and below.

Full, clear waters fall glassy, now blue,
The sky, just another surface on this one,
Now gated hastily too-
Shadows and bowlegged trees stand,
Twisting in locks of oId.

How impossible it is to stand still,
to take the living ghostly candlelight,
cut its seams from the water,
wish it free.

Imagine (I)

Imagine if my hands could fly,

Plucking a world of liquid color,

shadow birds and butterflies

dancing behind each current-rose,

A different taste of pastel, each

touched by a blessed light.

Wide as the sea itself, I'd let it swallow,

Paint me as I change my threads below-

Some would catch in impossible stone

where even the seas come to rest-

in a place of perpetual ocean, left

asleep in drifting meadows beneath.

Tying my knots at the horizon,

I'd wash myself in sunset, a soft beginning

to the sweetest oblivion, yet to come-

To watch the sea, washed anew,

as I pull in another gossamer tapestry

from above the river of night.

The Spirit of Words

Dark, pungent airs dance light,

wings unfurl in maddened flight-

It flees from prisons of narrow glass,

To be seized, drowned in the empty air.

Pierced by the fine-threaded horizons,

netting the world, end to end-

It falls upon the running wind,

Old screams choked to whispers

Unending, woven tough and thin.

Thus, it forgets the lofty sky,

The sweet carriage of barrelled sleep,

To meet worlds, tempests far in the mist,

Behind a wall of broken songs.

Magnolia IX

The stillness overtakes me,

Casts pale sheets of light

upon the soulful, trickling want

dripping slowly over weary eyes.

Her soft gaze bears deep pools of gold,

Ringed with rippled watermarks-

veins left from the receding deluge

pin the sky over her face.

A dancer in subtlety, she sweeps, at last,

Bending to touch the cloaked ground,

Clutching its hidden seams,

So slippery, in nimble hands

so wisps of winged shadow fly,

but to come back in morning sky.

How quaint, as old memory recedes,

My friend of unchanging grace;

My love, as firmly rooted as she,

In rare, sweet rediscovery.

Deluge in Unfocused Eyes

The sea has never quite left us,

Isles of its soul above the land

hanging on where life is.

Time has fought the tide,

Won in intricate wars, but skirmishes

writing, rewriting colorful limits,

Burying tenebrous songs of old.

Yet, the waters labor on, now clothed

in green, crimson, and gold-

In the fall foliage breaking,

spears of waving green,

Unending in a floating world.

Random

http://quizilla.teennick.com/quizzes/102022/which-personality-disorder-do-you-have

Thank goodness for poetry. This isn't as bad as it sounds. I swear!

Muse (III)

At last, her spirit leaves me,

The humming, whirring copper cogs,

That life of mine- cast

where it lights that world beyond,

where her eyes are finer

than any pearl in measured light

my single heart could give.

She leaves me my magic,

A stern delusion, keeping me,

To see just beyond

where the pale water, branching,

can still carry us both.