We turn to compulsions
To fill an immense void
We fill it with fallow soil
And watch as seasons
Shrivel and swell
We stay and we watch
And wait for something
To grow
~lily
We turn to compulsions
To fill an immense void
We fill it with fallow soil
And watch as seasons
Shrivel and swell
We stay and we watch
And wait for something
To grow
~lily
I just found this in draft from a while ago in November. Not a wonder filled poem, just some words from the land of loss. I was inspired by some imbecile who writes apple pie poetry and says that we shouldn't cry when our loved ones pass, because apparently they really aren't gone at all!! Yes, apparently, they are still with us, and near - as our angels, apparently they are in the rainbows and butterflies and the pollen on our noses.. well when i look around dufus, i don't see my dad anywhere and i doubt i will anytime soon .. stupid fucktard poets who write candy floss Crap.. Capital C
You set the butterflies free into my night
Trying to make me feel better about my loss
You won me over with the butterflies
But I know he lives among the bees
(G)littering me with an army of words
No longer do we sit in the familiar chairs
Partaking in our morning tea ritual
Your sickly sweet candy is on the roadside poet
Your gasps and bleats cannot fill this cavern
Please don’t cry, it makes me uneasy
For my memories are forever young
And the ache in my heart is my master
And I am led once again to the old green chair
Far away from you and your apple pie smile
In the middle
Of seventh heaven
And the deep blue sea
This is the defense
Of a hanging soul
A precarious
Tight rope walk
A drawn out night
Around a dying fire
Create the pain
And suffer in deserving
It’s a fading stage
Willing to change
It’s not enough
Under the burning sun
Everybody runs
Set us on fire!
~lily
Take it away
away, take it
this is the pebble
the pebble in my shoe
there’s room for more
more madness and undone
trusts, more outrageous
felicities
driver, lose me before
I remember that I am lost
lost among the fishers of hate
yes, the night is young, carrions
and we have a party to (dis)grace
the almighty holder of stupors
has requested our attendance
we have shed our delayed skin
and our flesh doesn’t matter
any more, our spirit is
under the spell of chaos
and we have no baggage
don’t lick at me with a honey tongue
give me the resurrection sting of bees
maybe I’ll fall deeply in love
you may just be the last
take it away
away, take it
~lily