tHe bEauTifuL oNeS

Feels funny
Putting words on paper
Again…

The aroma of baker’s slice of fresh blue-grey sky
Through the filament curtain of rain
Could she be a muse?

I still struggle
But it’s hard to resist

The headrush of images
Clashes with the nexus of words
In space they float
On paper they play
A game so random,
In the trance however it makes absolute sense.

My feet against the wet grill,
the twilight sky in all it’s grey glory
Cleopatra in her morning bath
A mint glow
I smile
It makes me happy

A giant canvas
All colors in their brighter hues
Neurotic symphony in the colours and the headrush
Words
Images
Dissolve
A blur of random joy
I think.

It feels good to feel again

Rain, coffee, cigarettes
A tranquil equation of sorts
Opium for the mind

I let go

In my pipe dram
Comatose struck and sublime
The fingers curled and reached for the little drops
Against the grills
They released and let go
Feeling the feel
Satiating
Totally overwhelmed

I’m humbled
I’m a broken mirror…

In your own company
There is another
Who shares the epiphany and the climax
And in silence you sit
Still struggling
With the inevitable
Checkerboard of vivid images
Music sheets of words

If I were Pied Piper
I could have led the mice
To the valley of transcendent evolution.

It still seems unreal
The canvas sky
The rain
Me

I miss the banter

How were we to know
It feels strange

The radical rain still falls
The young sky is still vivacious
They all seem cheerful and animated/
The green brightens up cockily in appreciation
It all seems cheeky and playful

I must feel happy
But why am I still crying?


(background score: The beautiful ones – Poets of the fall)
“Why do we sacrifice the beautiful ones? Why when they walk with love alone?”