THEY ARE COLOR-BLIND

Outside the world is lit
With outstretched and flowering
Dawn’s intention drowns the night
Sounding simple interesting
Wake dimensions lingering
Falling for the waded moments
Triangled visionings
Sounds are resigned by our fascinations
The white is radiant
Look to horror
Signal fires laugh at me
Warriors dressed in spring beckoning
Death imposing threatening
We divulge into the forest
Burning home the frozen wonder
See the devil mock the heavens
Watching women walk together
Seeing all that has yet to come
Some day you’ll get your shit
Letting brothers strangle loving
See once more the wild repress
Wait a moment the rain is falling
Soul drained into wet
Here the river floods our weakness
Driven to the ocean’s fret
Summoning life’s mute bleakness
I saw the crows come in
And they searched for days in mountains
Here they are tired and spent
Feathers loose and molting
There’s no way to describe
The perfect circle or heron’s vie
A feeble one will try to place
Their hands upon the mirror’s face
And reaching for the blinking eye
They hold themselves way up high
Capturing the season to come
A twenty-eight winter or a load for some
There was a time that they shut their mouth
And seeked the mansions and headed south
We could be honored at our bed
With roses and lilies that wilt when dead
As for the rest of time we will not see
The days are just as long in infinity
She’ll touch your wisdom
Her finger tips
Wipe the ancient across your visions
Celebrate her aged pleasures and lips
Soon to belong to destiny
The fate is motion like the river
Cascading boroughs before long ago
The water’s entity is quick as silver
Staring serenely into an empty ally
the ghosts are presiding in the hot liquid folly
Your dance in the myote brings out the coyote
You strike the death eyes blank and power
She weeps at the blank stare for hours and hours
No one home where the polished cars park
The carpets are dirty and so is the dark
Ominous reeds in milky puddled thrush
Seconds before fucking the waters will gush
We wake at noon with the time spinning around
Like the sound of happiness peeking our found
Whose to guide the mystery boxed future
With the fluttering inside the stomach’s torture
Just let it out, the paper doesn’t mind
As for the pen and ink-
They are color-blind
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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