12.12.12

monumental – a day to document, not for what is eternal, but for what has risen before us, begs us to raise our eyes beyond a pink sky that shall host a comet’s wing and pardon gestures of who hates our inability to forget a travesty painting this world a shade of red whilst pretending it is light-white, who dominates our pressed page today lays out the world’s transgressions in white when it is the calm of blood read – do we offer no refuge anymore for the bird that flies southward to warm when there is no warmth in a closed hand hiding its seeds to some of humanity. Did death walk over this grave this morning whilst looking for a frozen patch, but it was rising in a fog caught in a gale of grey wind, something played along its edge, a smell of cinnamon and we thought it was a child’s stone with its rock and offering in that candle flame, we can only guess who shall say prayer for the forgotten. No one is forgotten if the verse is left open. Didn’t we untie those pages together letting the vowels sing long whilst screams averted to barren wasteland. Wandering this leaf strewn path one of us now walks, toying with one tiny red string left dangling, remembering, a bond despite that hate dipped in white – She must be your true love and i, must find that empty bowl to gather what is left of our history – we paint tomorrow in invisible ink. Seek refuge, this window shall continue to not don a screen ~

About these ads

Posted by angela on 2012/12/13

http://yellowhousecafe.wordpress.com/2012/12/13/12-12-12/