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Old 05-06-2007, 09:49 PM   #1 (permalink)
Groupie
 
Join Date: May 2007
Posts: 2
Default A Manner of My Mind

Flashes of scarlet and red,
explosions of silver and gold,
are all injected, and enter,
into these veins that run slow.
It's pumped through this vessel,
and follows the winding path,
from here to my heart and back,
it's taken its hold and won't let go.

You brighten the corners of this dull world,
filling up all I once thought hollow,
I see it ride the wind as it curls and swirls,
clearing trails I once couldn't follow.

I've replaced the chemical,
but now it's you that flows,
throughout all my veins,
setting fire to the glow.

And well I've heard what they say,
that nothing lasts made of gold,
but I've got a feeling that this feeling,
may never lose grip, never lose hold.
My blood now glimmers like a pearl,
mixed with the shimmer of your eyes,
it's just out of reach, not out of sight,
you can see the glow shine through my skin.

So we'll lay with our heads on the sand,
pondering the shoreline, and the eternity,
the horizon, and the magnitude of this moment.
As close to a dream as you could ever be.

I watch as the colors in the sky bleed
into one another, painting us a picture,
a myriad of shades, a mirage of paradise.
A dream that I have dreamed before.

I can force the words to grace the page,
or we could ponder the distant heavens,
and admire the stars from afar, afar.
We could finally shed the disguises,
and purify the darkness that cloaks our bodies,
like a terrible blanket or shadow, for we know,
that the sun can always pierce the darkest of eyes,
words always seem meaningless when staring at the sky.

And well I've heard what they say,
that nothing lasts made of gold,
but I've got a feeling that this feeling,
may never lose grip, never lose hold.
My blood now glimmers like a pearl,
mixed with the shimmer of your eyes,
it's just out of reach, not out of touch,
you can see the glow shine through my skin.

Now how I would love to set fire to these words,
but beauty lost is more grievous than beauty marred,
and the smoke sent spiraling would only darken the sky,
blocking my view of where I came and how I've changed.
And flames can't change, it can only erase, and the
eradication of these thoughts can only hurt myself and more.
So I will preserve a moment and a manner of my mind,
before a day in which the sun didn't shine and everything changed.

Is it not so that forgiveness can only arrive with time,
but understanding can only come with reflection?
What happens when one's anguish blurs the mirror,
and all they see is distorted colors and shapes?
Look past and see the streak lights coloring these eyes,
painting a portrait reflected in this mirror,
a masterpiece made from a wreck of a man,
who transformed this empty canvas into a sunrise,
the empty into the full, the bleak into the sublime.
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