Archive for August, 2008

Unspoken

You try and see inside of me
look behind the page
to the place where I talk about things
of which I do not speak
where I reveal
that which I hide the meaning
places where secrets lay
in the open
under the sunshine
the moons glow
a thousand eyes
from above
but guarded
with a wax seal
which is not broken
penetrated
laid open.
 
A place where I live
alone in the dark
a shadow of a figure
but you pass within the door
view through windows and mirrors
to see what is inside
where everything is writ in blood
and washes away before the eye
and yet it is not encrypted

The World of Books

Books are thier own seperate worlds which contain thier own realities. Lives live upon the pages. Revealing themselves slowly and intimately. Where feelings are inspired there is breath. We are but voyers peering into the windows from behind the curtain.

We are created from the need, the need to examine others, to watch from the shadows. We consume the souls of these other beings. We seek to find ourselves within them, as well as to find escape from ourselves.

We must relate in someway to be moved, and yet, there must be just enough distance to be safe, to allow one to assure themselves that it is not they, but someone else, someone distant.

We must be moved but not ourselves invaded.

Man in a car

He was the most absurd man I have ever seen. He was driving a sky blue volvo. One has to wonder at times what goes into the mines of others. He appeared as a character more than a real person. As if he must have been illustrated into the car, while the car itself was animated. The rear view mirror was titled in such an angle that he must spend more time looking at himself than the road behind him. Which could perhaps explain the dent.

Desperately he was clinging on what few strangling stands of hair he had left, combed over his round yellow head. Beside him within the passengers seat, strapped securely with a seatbelt, he carried an ice chest. Seemingly unaware of his surroundings while he put putted along in his own oblivion.