Knot Eye

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Dancing Words

Dancing Words

The words you speak,

I wait to hear,

Ears prompt and ready,

Sound rolling off your lips,

Words formed of sweet air,

Gathered from angel’s gast,

Words unspoken,

Yet still heard,

Emotions felt,

And proclaimed aloud,

What then I ask,

Yet sweet repress,

Heavy with wordly strength,

Spoken from the mouths of power,

Taken,

Never with salt,

But the richest spices,

Meaning not yet realized,

What you keep to yourself,

Are rocks yet overturned,

I pause before I answer,

Our dance begins again.

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Remembrance

Remembrance

I just wanted you to know,

Someone is thinking of you,

Someone is remembering your eyes,

Deep in moments wonder,

Your gentle touch,

Soft as angel’s wings,

The feelings you inflect,

A sense of love,

Penetrating one’s soul,

Your heart’s gentle drum,

Drumming my fears away,

A gaze,

Open and friendly,

Waiting to shore a glance,

Soft hair framing a masterpiece,

Waves in each straits flowing tress,

Covering part of an eye,

Pushed aside for a gentle kiss,

My thoughts return to you,

One should know they are there, and true.

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A Random Hug

A Random Hug

My mind is in the glums,

Life left to ponder,

A day awaits its fate,

No preface to even quander,

I reach for love,

Touched only be empty air,

Pungent with remnant insults,

My looks, my face, my hair,

Left to open judgement,

I trance in sullen darkness,

Time held to judge my crimes,

There is no wrong,

Just my character,

Who cannot redefine,

The contrast endless grows,

Eyes see only the path behind,

Day traversed by spears of anger,

Insults added thyme,

I accept no repulse,

No hand to comfort me,

Stuck without a torch,

None in the world may ever see,

My footsteps trace the hall,

Soft echoes repeat each line,

What is life left to be,

When no-one sees the signs,

A hand reaches out to me,

A stray against the night,

Life left in trance,

Held to balance judgement,

So soft, so sweet, and warm,

This is no scalar of mine,

My repress is forgiven,

The light on an edge to grow,

Your embrace covers me,

Tainted glass breaks apart,

I see the world now,

A box without a corner,

A breast held upon breast,

Care transferred and restored,

A simple act,

An explosion of compassion,

Society un-tethered from judgement,

One small act enlightens,

One act renders back a life,

You leave upon your path,

Not more or less left than before,

Leaving a trail of brightness,

And a bulb, entertained to glow,

Renewed to life,

Your time yet spared,

Not a second lost or gained,

But a life held in balance again.

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Penmanship

Like this book, life is unpredictable.

Sometimes, it doesn't make sense, but that's the story.

Every part of the story matters.

You will remember what you choose to,

And you can always rip out the bad pages.

Remember though, that every ripped page leaves a tear leading into the spine that holds the whole mess together.

You should never leave the book in the middle, or else you will miss the best parts.

When you sit the novel down, the words will still plainly be there.

Its your choice to find a sequel,

Its your choice to not even care,

But remember one simple thing,

Every story is square

[knot-eye-blog]

If I am just a puppet, why can't I make others laugh?

Knot-Eye

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Lively Death

Lively Death

Death,

The word has lost all meaning,

Objective to a few,

They say it holds power,

Yet there is none more than fact,

A single fact held for records,

A placement in a card,

Empty in our minds,

Death is not compelling,

Viewed as dark and grim,

Emotion surpasses attendance,

Light, with arid glum,

We still yet hold the names,

No light is yet to come,

We miss their memory,

Shiver upon their empty quiver,

No arrows left to fly,

Bow sits empty,

Left for time to try.

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Rusted Bed Springs

Rusted Bed Springs

 Breath comes easy

Until one is sleeping on a bed with weight,

Tiredness is the morning's cup of coffee.

 Sometimes it's hard just to get up,

Knowing your mask won't fit,

But the world won't wait.

 Windows have shutters,

But eyes cannot close out

The prying light in the world.

 Shoes are the foot's best option,

But shoelaces are long frayed

And the sole must meet the grey.

 The alarm shakes to life again;

Life is lurching forward,

It would be helpful if the clock had hands.

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Quotes are helpful, until you realize they are more popular than you

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Why is it that war sits on the corner of the street, delving through accoustic rythms, and we through spare change into His case, but peace is locked away in a museum in Rome that no one has the cents to visit?

Knot-Eye

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Awards are good for collecting dust, experiences look better on the wall

Knot-Eye

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Black Windows Tainted White

Here I sit, punctuating the days’ end with sorrow. This laden heart has left little volume but for accommodations of vitalities. On one hand there are those who hand balloons to you, hoping upon their wallets that a bit of helium induced magic will uphold the day. The second, yet notably more dominant palm, conducts the strained movement of its age stained wisdom by part of a sly beast. Wholesome and bipartisan are those who bring granite and iron to the day, hark the next they bring lead. These are foes of those who drag their dark cloaks by the seam of the color till the turned stitch betrays the grounds for remarks. Contentions to what otherwise shines on in existence, or dismay without further desire. Drapes flow darker than their shadows of the looming figures trespassing their quarry, life holds forth the hammer to crack open the already misfortune glass – each window to take in a contamination of the coldest of woes. Lies upon lies shed liquid past the pane.

We simply decide to shut the blinds thenceforth, lay back the drapes to put battle to any cry. Yet this results in stale air upon the study, lest this then be inhabited by some unearthly son. This left for a neighboring, discontent and lust for a brighter draft through even the icy winter, yet the hearth bear no life. Keep the door sealed for long enough, and the weather will simply disappear and the winds will whisper no more.

Some windows yet preside on a second and thoroughly bearing face of the forlorn house. Set ajar the farthest, and a detrimental view floats in over the rafters and greets the wooden posts accompanying the stairs. The content of the house never changes when the tapestries are drawn, the rug compliments the wall, but la mûr only spends its time despising the ceiling. Yet open the house - set the door perpendicular to that tattered old welcome mat, and the air moves the coffee table, changes the optimistic rugs and bars away the thoughts of the walls as detrimental objections. What then astounds the chandelier is the return of a heavy heart after such change; they choose to lift an organ, and it is suddenly God’s Hammer.

Perhaps it is best to only let those bent inwardly on love strengthen their minds on my ball and chain. Yet in every group there is the Four who find the ballast of my heart desirable, succeed in their endeavor, without doubt of their inner chord in accord. By default, their success becomes yet more weight to my residual ball, and then the next has less of a chance then before - who sees dismay is only swimming without the lane of heraldry yaw.

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Vied Compassion

Vied Compassion

The pen is ready,

Yet my mouth hath no ink,

No voice to the air,

But paper to link,

What have we become?

With hate to another,

For gender, or race, or skin-color,

Stand among the minorities

Use sound to be heard,

A fist pounding is but less than a word,

The meager gun in the air

Sees more than is silent.

Speak out young men,

The nation begs at your feet.

Speak out young women,

You will have the same mete.

Speak here all,

The world will receive.