tunnel, Elia Cisneros [best reads .txt] 📗

In which direction does it stand
When descending imagery spin against me
Floating time
In a whirlwind of loss
Against me
When before my ears
Well they hear a crash
Such a life
With spots of hopeless cries
To be freed!
Well why then
In such a stage
Does light float for my dwindling soul
Coming fourth to lay guilt upon that golden cloud
Where does it stand
When before me the sun shines black
And the night glistens in a picturesque bliss
Where does it stand
When night comes from the soul
And day from the hatred
Confusion strikes a deathly blow
And every day is a wandering day
When beings fallow the light and shining suffered cloud
Rolling through the misty relief
And the sun is lost in racing thoughts
And freedom gives it's last blissful touch

What would you think
If the sweetest of tunes
Met your wondering ears
When the darkest of visions
Meet your bedraggled eyes
Well the unfair may kill
But for the wandering mind
What would those eyes behold
If only a glimpse were viewed
A glimpse of that of the human essence
That which makes imperfection perfect
Why, they see the physical song
They would see what the eyes should see

All conjoined to create the concept of dance
That silvery thing which sheds light
On the sound in your ears
And beauty of the eyes

I walk a wandering walk,
Clothed in my regrets
The ground consists of misery
The sky of loss
Injustice pangs me to a withering limp
My eyes shut closed
I see
Well i see myself
The world hidden in pain
My nose breathing out
Polluting the air with my thoughts
And when I breathe in,
Well I breathe in my own retrospect
It consists of a ragged soul
Who lost its way among the cold
And the hot
Searching for the balance
For I am the epiphany of nothing
I was once cold,
Then I grew so hot
I was blanched of my feeling.
So now I wander.
The tumult of lava licks at my skin
I feel nothing
But what is already reality
The pierce of the ice knocks on my bones
I feel nothing
But what is already there
As it is.
And is.
Until I scream,
Why?
And I am answered by the comfort of
Soft of pain.
Until a hand
Reaches out
Grabs me by the head
And I see light.

In which state of mind
Does the enemy awaken
The cold possibility of
Grey horizons
And stormy skies,
It is a sate of dream
Where,
Love is drowned by
Clouds asunder
Yet not commenced

I once feared,
But fear was slain
By the consistency of matter,
The rigid, the soft
The cold, the warm
Touching not slightly
But so forcefully, it
Opens reality

I once feared,
Yet I did love
I loved and I realized
The clouds were symbols,
Representing
A sky soon clear
The rain was a symbol, it
Represented a drought
Soon killed

Now ,
I see reality.
I see clouds,
Torment, and yet
The punctuality
Of love.

I am whole
I am
Nonchalant
Rocking
Rock
Rocking
below the depths of a flood
Brms outstretched, tunes seeping
But not quite touching
The bowls of
The heart.
It is broken
It is insanely sweeping,
Gracefully before my eyes
But not quite touching
The depths of my mind.
For, I am lost,
Beyond comprehension
Born an 86 gal
Uprising
Rising from her own creation,
A flood
A flood emotionally erratic,
Scattering towards an open heart
Yet not quite touching.
This is a tune
Just there,
Above the clouds and moonlit skies
Nestled between her heart and ours.

Holding on to the undefinable,
The silvery thing called love.
In the midst of all this grey you seem,
Why, nearly solid
A dream
Consisting of goodbyes and
Broken tomorrows.
Yet grasping, my hand holds only
The common thread
The common thread of a blind existence.
Looking for you, I find the imagination.
Searching for you,
For it,
For my existence,
I find reality.
Looking for that silvery thing,
'Can't quite ever touch it,
Yet if the earth can kill,
Why live a solid existence
When a blow
Why, a blow could take it all away

Publication Date: 04-03-2012

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