Blog For Free!
Archives
Home
2008 May
2007 September
2007 July
2007 June
2007 May
2007 April
2007 March
2006 December
2006 November
2006 September
2006 August
2006 July
2006 June
2006 May
tBlog
My Profile
Send tMail
My tFriends
My Images
Sponsored
Blog
| Glow |
| 09.23.06 (2:16 pm) [edit] |
|
Swigs of ink... On papyas leaf... Brushes of paint... On an Italian plate... Printed words... On sheets of white... Grafted fingerprints... Under twilight... And as they sing... They sing aloud... Only those with vision... Can hear the sound... Dot Dot Dot... Dot Dot Dot... They play and giggle... And sing so free... They twinkle and dance... Those that once were trees... They weep and scream... Those tiny voices resound... They create color for the world... Their hearts quietly found... They swivle and sway... They lean and flow... Words they are... Words that glow... |
| The Song |
| 09.07.06 (12:42 pm) [edit] |
|
"You see, the song is the life, the life I can't live" And yes, as her words echo from the brown, worn pages I understand her voice...her meaning...her thought in that time of explaination. The song is the life, but I cannot sing. The song is the feeling...the feeling of the quivering core being soothed...the feeling mending the hole in the mirror...the feeling of being seen, found out, embraced, and again, I say, loved. But the song cannot be sung on a constant basis. The song cannot be sung by one who is voiceless. The song is only imaginative...the song is a figment of Fantasma. And what is the use when the song can do more harm than good? As my fine glassware shatters under the high pitched notes--as my feet tremble from the depths of it's low pitch seduction...as my eyes squint to half-state when the pitch becomes unbarable...when tears stream down my face from the song's near end. And thus, as stated, the song cannot be sung, though the song is the life...the life that I can't live. The song is a visionary wind only felt by the one who has the vision. The song is a memory that can only be remembered in first person. The song, though written and read, is fiction...a dream...a figment of Fantasma...of fantasy...of nothingness... "The song is the life, the life I can't live." |