A rainy night in Atlanta.
Hot, sweaty, steamy streets,
We clinched for air,
To free us from despair,
The despair of our dirt,
Our fleeting entertainment and even our sins, yes,
We all know what sin is, even when we deny,
Even when we don't believe,
But yet it is heat that inprisons us now,
Making us strip near bare amongst the sky,
The steam from the streets makes us sweat,
Hot and bothered, we are,
And with this give us stress, boiling stress,
It melts sanity as fast as chocolate (Kathy),
And steams anxiety just as fast,
Mental cool is truly the best defense that we have now,
As well as the artifical, for a price,
It is why that there is nothing more harsh than a trickle,
A cruel joke for the despair,
Even when a trickle sends forth, "God tears",
We call them "storms", but here's something more familiar,
A "cleansing", of the place, body and even mind,
"Sadness", if you choose to be confined within shelter,
Yet you seek none within a pool or a sprinkler,
Besides a trunk or a bikini or a three-piece suit,
Trickles begins the rain begins the cleansing,
Of the streets, the air, and salvation becomes closer,
To our grasp,
Visual and mental perspectives,
Always play against what we really feel,
I guess that what makes it hard to express,
How we are, how we care, and how we need,
With this, rain becomes more than a natural act,
It becomes shelter, a cloak to hide in,
All we need to ask is "What are hiding or shielding from?",
A all-purpose cleaner, makes us look shiny,
All we need to ask is, "How do we continue from this?",
Their is a language for feelings, it is our own body,
And it with that we must overcomes perspectives,
And finally, express, I feel,
The dancer moves without a trace,
Poetry by Saga
Read 848 times
Written on 2006-09-13 at 05:29
Tags Rain
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Trickles
Hot, sweaty, steamy streets,
We clinched for air,
To free us from despair,
The despair of our dirt,
Our fleeting entertainment and even our sins, yes,
We all know what sin is, even when we deny,
Even when we don't believe,
But yet it is heat that inprisons us now,
Making us strip near bare amongst the sky,
The steam from the streets makes us sweat,
Hot and bothered, we are,
And with this give us stress, boiling stress,
It melts sanity as fast as chocolate (Kathy),
And steams anxiety just as fast,
Mental cool is truly the best defense that we have now,
As well as the artifical, for a price,
It is why that there is nothing more harsh than a trickle,
A cruel joke for the despair,
Even when a trickle sends forth, "God tears",
We call them "storms", but here's something more familiar,
A "cleansing", of the place, body and even mind,
"Sadness", if you choose to be confined within shelter,
Yet you seek none within a pool or a sprinkler,
Besides a trunk or a bikini or a three-piece suit,
Trickles begins the rain begins the cleansing,
Of the streets, the air, and salvation becomes closer,
To our grasp,
Visual and mental perspectives,
Always play against what we really feel,
I guess that what makes it hard to express,
How we are, how we care, and how we need,
With this, rain becomes more than a natural act,
It becomes shelter, a cloak to hide in,
All we need to ask is "What are hiding or shielding from?",
A all-purpose cleaner, makes us look shiny,
All we need to ask is, "How do we continue from this?",
Their is a language for feelings, it is our own body,
And it with that we must overcomes perspectives,
And finally, express, I feel,
The dancer moves without a trace,
Poetry by Saga
Read 848 times
Written on 2006-09-13 at 05:29
Tags Rain
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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BlueyedSoul |
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keith nunes |
