Regaining self-love can be so wonderful.
burn white
burn white
diamond jewel treacle,
such clandescent joy
slithering through my veins-
fails my heart
and soaks away,
the ink-stain as my frailty starts
and again
it parts
to reveal
the circumstance,
the sheer tropic dance
of the embers
that set alight
in the chambers
of my dark heart.
as they burn white,
my eyes glow
like finches in the snow
that flutter obsolete
to the winter's
killing sleet
-that burns the living
in the frozen shadow
of this dead birds
meet.
it's hollow fear
melted away,
like a blind hand
dipping in
soft clay
it's reaching
for a far away land,
when the ocean is yours
in the palm of your other hand.
it's ambrosia
flowing in my streams,
teaching the waters
how to fall in their dreams.
let it burn white
let it burn white
let it burn white
spires from the black
brightly burning white,
there's no going back
to that cheap motel tonight.
there's no going back
until you get it right.
sparkling emerald treacle,
such translucent fear
wuthering outside my brain-
fails my heart
at once, and strains-
the ink-stain sails in my heart
and again
it parts
the black waves,
takes my dreams
and makes them slaves,
and through the seams
-you can say-
there seems to be
the light of day.
such circumstance,
such pure tropic chance:
that embers
could set alight
the way for the cracks
to be mended right
in the chambers
of my dark heart.
this hollow fear
will get melted away
while that blind hand
stirs the soft clay.
that land so far away,
will reach here
the very next day,
while the ocean pools in the other hand.
don't listen to the fools!
it's ambrosia
flowing in the streams,
teaching the waters
how to fall in their dreams.
let it burn white
let it burn white
let it burn white
we're spires from the black
unsightly burning tonight,
and we're not going down
before we flare a fight!
there's no going down
until we get it right
Poetry by Aven Black
Read 706 times
Written on 2010-01-24 at 22:45
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Burn White
urn whiteburn white
burn white
diamond jewel treacle,
such clandescent joy
slithering through my veins-
fails my heart
and soaks away,
the ink-stain as my frailty starts
and again
it parts
to reveal
the circumstance,
the sheer tropic dance
of the embers
that set alight
in the chambers
of my dark heart.
as they burn white,
my eyes glow
like finches in the snow
that flutter obsolete
to the winter's
killing sleet
-that burns the living
in the frozen shadow
of this dead birds
meet.
it's hollow fear
melted away,
like a blind hand
dipping in
soft clay
it's reaching
for a far away land,
when the ocean is yours
in the palm of your other hand.
it's ambrosia
flowing in my streams,
teaching the waters
how to fall in their dreams.
let it burn white
let it burn white
let it burn white
spires from the black
brightly burning white,
there's no going back
to that cheap motel tonight.
there's no going back
until you get it right.
sparkling emerald treacle,
such translucent fear
wuthering outside my brain-
fails my heart
at once, and strains-
the ink-stain sails in my heart
and again
it parts
the black waves,
takes my dreams
and makes them slaves,
and through the seams
-you can say-
there seems to be
the light of day.
such circumstance,
such pure tropic chance:
that embers
could set alight
the way for the cracks
to be mended right
in the chambers
of my dark heart.
this hollow fear
will get melted away
while that blind hand
stirs the soft clay.
that land so far away,
will reach here
the very next day,
while the ocean pools in the other hand.
don't listen to the fools!
it's ambrosia
flowing in the streams,
teaching the waters
how to fall in their dreams.
let it burn white
let it burn white
let it burn white
we're spires from the black
unsightly burning tonight,
and we're not going down
before we flare a fight!
there's no going down
until we get it right
Poetry by Aven Black
Read 706 times
Written on 2010-01-24 at 22:45
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
