Marbleyes

When the summer began
we were handed an empty glass
and told to poor until it’s full.
Back then we were overflowing
and everything was so simple.
All it took was a shake or a stir
and we could make everyone burn
like were were flammable and begging
for a spark.

When I look outside at night
memories sometimes cloud my eyes
it begins to blur my sight
and for a while I’m not alive
like I’m near the ocean floor
floating beside a decaying shipwreck
guided by a slow mellow current
under a single shimmering light
I can admire the towering wooden bars
that once contained it’s sails
that shadow a galloping horse
that still proudly adorns the bow
and the gold trim of a million small rings
strewn about the planks just in front of
the broken windows that surround the captains wheel.
still in tact
still turning west
as if someone has been standing, holding it here
all these years.
I’m dragged along its starboard side
flowing like it’s never been touched.
Leads me to where it all must have gone wrong.
It amazes me.
Among the soot and all the life of a thriving sea
lays the remains of an amazing tale
of seven brave men who fought their greatest enemy
and gave their lives to see it slayed.
one single falter brought them here
one solitary hole where it must have pierced.

The sun is rising again
it was a long, dark wait.
The clouds are clearing from my eyes
and all that’s left are memories
but how I see them now
is as if they’re still there
in front of me,
and we’re all dead,
but in on it, together, forever.
as the bravest
as the strongest
as the funniest
as the prettiest
as the smartest
as the loudest
as the strangest.
The best.

The sky turns pink sometimes.
It’s because they know we’re feeling a bit blue too.
So they shake things up a little
just to show they can sometimes loose the truth.
Like as humans we sometimes do.
But hanging all their colors out to dry is so rude…
The sun blushes red.
like us humans, when we’re shown the truth.

I bet you think this is about you.

pixie dust is all it ever was
bubbles of soap popping in my eyes
extraordinary myths dancing alive
oh and the beliefs, proven false, as ever was.

This is my letter to the editor
the son of a bitch has been so bitter
all of her letters were once so strong
and now they seem to have become
so
thin pale skin whithering away into
more pale thin bones to hold up your
piece of shit thoughts that seem to
overlay and overlay until everything is just
decaying into the world you want to
see us all embracing so that you can
try to call what you do laughing.

This is my letter of apology to the ones who cared
it’s because of you that I’m even still here.
There were so many reasons I should have run
should have hidden myself away out in some cave
to rot till I look kind of like…
nevermind.
It’s for you that I write so many times a night
no matter the satire I spew in all directions
I can tell you truly, that though a selfish kind we are,
it’s for your patients that I would die.

And these are the lines that I swear to be unique
kind of like the time we …
filled in the blanks.
I think there was at least one more lesson to learn
and I think it was that we all sometimes turn
sometimes cross the line
and certainly, love so divine.
The three letters that spell out her.
This thing, so unique, to the look in our eyes,
where we both may know that the future may lie
and both will approach at exactly the same time
because that’s just what we’re all about.

That, and shooting stars.  :D

and the wheels on the bus go round and round…round and round…

It’s not easy to describe
how hard it is to find
the right kind of heart
with enough invigoration
to power the imagination
enough to envision
a canvas that stretches
across all the land masses.

I still cannot believe
that so much time is spent
searching for a map
that may or may not lead
to another puzzle piece
to build upon an ever growing picture
of what we’re supposed to feel and see
because it doesn’t really matter
if you can’t even fathom
the simple rule of fate
and the power that it creates.

It’s difficult to grasp
a concept so vast
as the ability to see
something coming to me.
but if you can truly feel
the mysterious vibrations
and delusional situations
chances are you can also see
with your eyes covered in light.

And it’s in that blinded state
that I think I may be in
and I don’t know where I am
but the ground feels real
and the old pictures in my mind
seem to have gone missing.
I don’t know what’s coming next
but I do know I can’t wait
And I don’t think I’m alone.

I am at my wits end.  All of this has got to come to some kind of conclusion.  I don’t even know if it will help, but every day I don’t sleep is one more that I regret.  So much regret pilled upon the sleeping agony is just going to awake a more disturbing, disgusting being than anything I have been able to describe thus far.  I am sick of it.  It’s making me sick.  It feels like something has to be destroyed in order for the beauty we all once shone to come back to us again.  It just feels like something has to break.

but
I’m probably the only one feeling the tension.  In which case, I’m the one whose going to have to shatter.

I’ve read so many letters
that tell me I’ve got no clue
how do gray skies become blue?
can I draw a pastel night
paint a constellation right there
in plain sight?
Could we compare the epic feeling
to clawing the thin ice?
One of these days
It’s going to be true
I’m going to cut right through
explode into a billion tiny pieces
bend backward against all the creases
show you it’s not so blue
and when the sky becomes blood
you’ll see me come crashing down around you
so many parts of this puzzle
the jagged edges of truth
are going to stab right through.

Six months worth of advice could be summed up into a footnote with only one phrase.  That text is what I want engraved on my tombstone, my epitaph.  It would be my final bow to the power of the creative womb that we all find ourselves yearning for when we’re feeling so poor.  But I would like to be buried facing west, so that if I’m dead when the final sun sets, perhaps I could have a view.  I’m sure it would be beautiful.

I believe god
oddly enough, in love
and doves of beasts
as beautiful releases.
But adorn the sky
the color of lust
red on black
I saw jesus.
Leaves us behind
instead, loves some kind..
of monster that’s craving,
starving for flowers
to devour.
So confusing
I could care
but it’s so much less.
All I want
singing soft lullaby’s
so I can rest
to dream of it all
in jest.

It’s just hard for me to see.  Someone should tell me.  Maybe it’s not so difficult, maybe I’m just being ridiculous.  But for ever contradiction, there’s a man waiting in an unemployment line.  A boy outside an office waiting for his mother.  A nervous teenage girl driving to the doctor.  A middle aged woman declining slowly into insanity, and a father hiding from his ghosts.  Karma has us all by the throat.

I don’t know.