A Shattered Mirror Still Hangs.
A Shattered Mirror Still Hangs.
I've been writing with invisible ink
But it doesn't even scratch the surface,
And you know what they say about blank paper
Its a world waiting to begin,
But so far i've seen nothing
Just the prelude to the end.
You see I write in cursive
No I don't i'm much too sloppy
But if elegance meant creativity well I guess
I'd be the Vasari of poetry,
But worn with time can't a page look pretty?
It may hold nothing but it can add to the scenery
And hey, even if you hate it
Maybe you can just walk blindly,
After all the dumb kid with no senses
Never knows if hes been hated or loved.
So now were left to question the meaning of sixteen pens that lay in a casket,
Well its there to sum up the life work of a man
Who decided that his time was better spent looking
Into the mirror and tracing words the wrong way
For seven days he slept well
Under the silhouette of a close casket funeral service.
And now, the flower tries to dig itself out of the soil
You know beauty should not be found in words
But in pictures for whats harder to achieve the grace of speech
Or your god given face?
So pull up your wings and remember all the tired cliches,
If you love something give it away
And I believe the south is calling, with love.
__________________
I dyed my hair in a motel void met the coroner at the Dreamgate Frontier,
He took my hand said I'll help you boy if you really want to disappear.
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