drowning cherry: where is my old ocean tide?
[[this is a lyrical poem on looking through the telescope and play-pretending amongst the starthings; which is to say, i want to attempt at seeing and breathing and living and perceiving and thinking outside the box]]
oh pretty, pray tell! for death flew on wings of gentle candor, on stargazer's avenue for eyes to sell a story of a trillion love me tender. a tragic finale sewn on unworthy hands, for this exquisite winged varmint that trembled and choked and passed as my dear best friend and oh how drearisome it must have been for it to call my unclean palm a coffin. poor dear!
oh look! one last flutter! and whence light shadow plays of blue-grey (sometimes violet), the monochrome sweet angel sings... of palpable mortality in halcyon days, like invisible angels on broken wings... oh and these tiny sugarlights! from home, to heart to forever nights. exquisite like day's drops of lemons, to erase, rewind, amnesiac heartburns. but whence momentary amnesia of ribbon scars, exhaust the moments of looking hard for another hand, i seek sweet absolution in broken stars and await my once-whoever-i-never-really-was, to mend.
starthing, you are a million thoughts not formed; still ambling obscure and unimplied on a canvas of nothingness. but you've reached for my hand. and this is how i know, some particle of me must be present, pronounced, pickled in the here-and-now. i know. oh, how i know, each time i remember, it is only you reminding me how even stars slowly lose their decadence.
but life's every irony is being recorded in every of your drag. and sometimes, even logic weighs a tinkers ton. so we are forced to forget. but to forget, is the resignation of regret and lessons learnt. whilst forgiving is beating up old flesh wounds. to forget is to swallow it whole. starthing, to forget is to connect the dots with dots and living it up when everything else seems adamant on being downers.
oh look! one last flutter! and whence light shadow plays of blue-grey (sometimes violet), the monochrome sweet angel sings... of palpable mortality in halcyon days, like invisible angels on broken wings... oh and these tiny sugarlights! from home, to heart to forever nights. exquisite like day's drops of lemons, to erase, rewind, amnesiac heartburns. but whence momentary amnesia of ribbon scars, exhaust the moments of looking hard for another hand, i seek sweet absolution in broken stars and await my once-whoever-i-never-really-was, to mend.
starthing, you are a million thoughts not formed; still ambling obscure and unimplied on a canvas of nothingness. but you've reached for my hand. and this is how i know, some particle of me must be present, pronounced, pickled in the here-and-now. i know. oh, how i know, each time i remember, it is only you reminding me how even stars slowly lose their decadence.
but life's every irony is being recorded in every of your drag. and sometimes, even logic weighs a tinkers ton. so we are forced to forget. but to forget, is the resignation of regret and lessons learnt. whilst forgiving is beating up old flesh wounds. to forget is to swallow it whole. starthing, to forget is to connect the dots with dots and living it up when everything else seems adamant on being downers.
