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Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Slats 4.30

Lately I have only been composed of late nights.
Porches scattered with people being and learning amidst gusts of wind
We are vast. We breathe air made for us, silent tribute to vitality.
Moons awaken us asunder and we ebb and flow in pieces.

So scared are we, sitting amongst branches and concrete and laughter
Passing spirit in smoke, giving what we cannot take.
We slip slow and steady here, for time asks no questions
Sky falls to shadow, but we are not for Day, not now.

Rain sprinkles like wine on our hands and feet and we scream.
We drink what Night has to offer us, sipping frozen hope
Ours is many and one together, rolled up in paper thin destiny.
And we know nothing other than this, trying to be who we are.

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