Write because it subjects your mind to the beautiful
Write because it is freedom
Write because you can connect to others
Write because it is a war you need to win in between you and time
Write because it can last much longer than you.
Write because writing enlightens the enlightened.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Thursday, September 26, 2013
My Brother and I
Going up to the counter at the store
and being oh so small evermore.
The laughter contorts my face
all over and under the place
A fort- grandiose and large-
we would pretend it was a barge
or a spaceship flying to the stars,
no thoughts or scars
my brother and I.
Saving the world-
Our capes unfurled
held to us by clothespins,
in my age everyone wins.
The capes gave us the power to do nothing and everything
Our capes gave us a theme song we used to sing.
Playing Gameboy under a blanket fort-
Our parents eyes we would secretly thwart.
our capes flying in the fan-
we had the biggest wingspan,
my brother and I.
and being oh so small evermore.
The laughter contorts my face
all over and under the place
A fort- grandiose and large-
we would pretend it was a barge
or a spaceship flying to the stars,
no thoughts or scars
my brother and I.
Saving the world-
Our capes unfurled
held to us by clothespins,
in my age everyone wins.
The capes gave us the power to do nothing and everything
Our capes gave us a theme song we used to sing.
Playing Gameboy under a blanket fort-
Our parents eyes we would secretly thwart.
our capes flying in the fan-
we had the biggest wingspan,
my brother and I.
The Mountains of Sound
The Mountains, a happenstance of collision
abjectly placed on the frontier-
Like a jarring drum,
a heart's strum
a note misplaced-
a terror not faced
instead, a beautiful explosion from the earth,
making its way out of the dearth.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Embolden
I feel, finally
Then the note strikes me
I feel somewhat larger than myself
I am a great light
with the burden of the feel
and I scream like the sun.
Then the note strikes me
I feel somewhat larger than myself
I am a great light
with the burden of the feel
and I scream like the sun.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
A Non-Sensical
Bofroggle of undertangle
austanch of newfangle
a hop, a scop,
and a wobbly-flop
flowery, towery
inter soury
and a splong.
The light. its too much.
this is normal, actually probably not anywhere else besides the mitchell residence.
Eternal
Twelve circles
going round
each felling a giant.
And,
in their own,
Turning Blue
in the new
circle
and the green is circling.
Saturday, September 14, 2013
So different
My fingers shivering -
others thoughts delivering-
They all scream the individual soul,
and I am finally whole-
I awake.
others thoughts delivering-
They all scream the individual soul,
and I am finally whole-
I awake.
Doubting my Lines.
I often wonder why the erasers on pencils are so small
The graphite scratches wrong
(was it me?)
a misplaced line infinitely long.
and I turn the pencil over in apprehension
(of what you ask?)
the thing I can barely bear to mention.
That my eraser is fading slowly
(will it be there next?)
and the thing that makes things holy,
perfect in fact,
(are they perfect after it truly?)
but the paper is cracked.
Lines etched in doubt.
and a fading eraser.
The graphite scratches wrong
(was it me?)
a misplaced line infinitely long.
and I turn the pencil over in apprehension
(of what you ask?)
the thing I can barely bear to mention.
That my eraser is fading slowly
(will it be there next?)
and the thing that makes things holy,
perfect in fact,
(are they perfect after it truly?)
but the paper is cracked.
Lines etched in doubt.
and a fading eraser.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Yes.
Be Grateful for EVERYTHING!
when I think about all the things I am grateful for-I am blown away.
SO MUCH.
SOOOOOOOO MUCH!!!!!
A dream within.
My eyes, blinking out the sunlight, dream otherworldly
things
And my ears hear as the creature in me sings
A melody almost lost in the world.
My flag left unfurled-
but only in a dream.
My dream of a dream, it may seem,
To have significance unseen.
But my true self shows, hopeful and clean
In that dream of a dream.
My imagination’s creation
stirs the nation.
Inside of me lies what I have always wanted to want
But deeper than that, because my brain, seems to taunt,
Taunt me with underlying significance streaming.
In fact sometimes I forget I’m dreaming-
In this dream of a dream.
The edge of my reality is shattered
Not that it really actually mattered.
Instead my rules are broken
Without a word spoken
In this dream of a dream.
The truths of life and gravity
have no place with me
at least not anymore,
and I have no idea what I have in store.
in this dream of a dream.
My Dream Room
“Generate” I tell my brain in me. I do not utter the word,
but I do. My eyes fluttering off to sleep, I am slow embodied in a single
moment. The grandfather clock against the wall’s arms slows down with
effervescent tics. It is silently, but loudly drifting me to sleep. The eyes in
me open.
In a room
That I
CREATED.
The light is warm and modern, and it fills the room with
ethereal melody. My theme plays- the one I have not discovered yet, but have
before. I sit on a worn rocking chair, the thought of sleeping gone. The
architecture in the room reminds me of my own style, much more enclosed, almost
hugging me in its warm embrace. The warm ceiling curves down to touch the
ground with walls of the past. Cutouts from magazines line the walls, and
memories drawn by a lifetime stream past. Fashioned out of paper, my creations
line the shelves next to the ceiling. I am home, finally. It is where I spend
almost half of my life. On the ground around me are bottles of ink, collections
of feathers, and stacks of yellowed paper. Thick and deep, the paper is enough
to carry my ink and stories. I look over to see the wastepaper bin- completely
empty except for a couple of scraps. I don’t ever throw anything away, it all
too important. Across the room- directly at the vantage point of my vision is a
door with a golden handle. This is the door where all my dreams come true. Then
I stand, memories accosting me with bliss understanding. I know where I am
now. I am in my dream room. Next to the
door lies an infinite cabinet, made out of mahogany. I open the drawer of my
understanding and imagination. It is stacked full of paper, all written on with
perfect cursive. The loops are mine. I pull a stack of the paper out and lay it
down on the floor in full arrangement around me. This is a story I wrote, a
dream I have not lived yet. The plot gives me goose bumps, and I shiver. It is
beautiful, but I wonder what I am supposed to do with it. FLASH. The memories
of thousands of times I have done it rush back. I clasp the papers in my
anticipating hand and grasp the golden handle of the door. The papers in my
hand rustle-a living, tangible dream. I turn the knob and open the door to the
wind behind. It is pitch black. Nothing exists on the other side, at least not
yet. I throw the papers to the wind. I
see the world behind the dream morph into something drastic. I shut the door
behind me and walk into a new world-my dream.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
New Bounds
Breathe in and out
and open your closed eyes.
Holding them shut will not stop the world.
Open up inside,
Holding your feelings
will NOT stop you from feeling them
Do not be afraid,
fear is nature's invigorator-
and it will not stop you from believing
Look at the lines-
the bounds of common man-
and pass over them
Skip across.
Monday, September 2, 2013
A Short
Still holding on now
I don't know if I can keep it
But I try to stay.
Baseball gloves and a bike. win.a blur with smiles all around.
a vacuum and a thought.
Kristina with her ethereal goodness
fixing the cuff.
and for the best one.
The word and the Man
A Man holds his ears shut in anticipation of the word
he
hates it.
DESPISES IT.
Crawls in a corner to try- try to escape it
his heart doing backflips.
his huddled, shivering form in denial-
denial of a single word
the word he hates?
it
is
CHANGE.
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