What I see in a few writers I've known--contentment in depression |
we fall...for the allure of a shadow's mystique. the siren aura of this illusion is so seductive for a chance encounter with a harmonic composition. the social scene is a cemetery. residents wander, painting portraits of their rewritten past burying every redemption beneath see-thru silver-tongued brushstrokes... tragically hip, embracing damnation with pale joy. every mistake is a muse and I find these environs won't accept my substance. hollow molds can't hold me. In the black heart echoes of a periodic virago witness a manikin waltz, around a broken child Kneeling on her fragments of a forever. i brush the surface of a three-fold tragedy, below me... of an unyielding touch that gave way but the center holds. i bathe in the light to eradicate the whole aesthetic cupping palms to catch fleeting beams and wash clean. i offer gentle resistance to a diversion of my designs constant in the midst of mutability i knew...even in that former life, and still in my hidden hand, a promise brought back from heaven of a dream that died a second death, but not enough...i touched it. it's glow is soft, it's all I could hold you see, I made it. i found a way to finding a way of writing my dreams on starlight beams. should you find this that you've forgotten you read right in a sacred pledge of forgiving and forgetting... we can cast off the shadow. 6-28-07 |