love is what is left at the end of the day.
From: melbourne, victoria, Australia
About me: i'm a wanderlust and a warrior of life. i have hordes of nomads and soldiers waiting to wander this sometimes barren and sometimes lush landscape of my head. i send them forth. they are my words. my weapon of choice: purple prose
posted by ciggy at 12:13 AM
Monday, May 29, 2006
for i am poor
unworthy fingerprints
unstained of abundance
feeling
yearning
asking
a caressing
of the pearls
of your face
Yours
have twin petals
bearing silver words
Mine
Are dried leaves
speaking copper thoughts
on my knees
outside your gates
smelling lilies
growing on the garden
of your skin
the rag
in stitches
A pocket
A patch
In my heart
Waiting for
a tinkling
of you
[ listen ]
unstained of abundance
feeling
yearning
asking
a caressing
of the pearls
of your face
Yours
have twin petals
bearing silver words
Mine
Are dried leaves
speaking copper thoughts
on my knees
outside your gates
smelling lilies
growing on the garden
of your skin
the rag
in stitches
A pocket
A patch
In my heart
Waiting for
a tinkling
of you
[ listen ]
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
looking glass
yesterday you wrote me a letter which reminded me a lot of a former self, long-ago forgotten.
the letter, a mirror. a canvas painted with a self-portrait of my youth. a memory that you captured through spying lens; a photograph of you, by you.
i am your reflection. you are my reflection.
and i was staring at you --- an image of an old me --- hopeful, untainted by cynicism, every bit a romantic. and i remembered how lovely it was to be that me. how pure, how young, how true. and i wanted that me back. you made me want that me back.
and through that letter you were looking at me --- a recently-discovered facet of you --- excited with the promises of tomorrow, expectant, bustling with life and laden with emotions. and you know how wonderful it is to be this you.
i see a replica of me that is you, facing a rendering of you, of me, in you... through a piece of folded paper with lead scratches and stains. and as the mirror dissolved into complete surrender, what is left is me before you, brought back from the past, and you before me, looking ahead.
reading the same words.
the letter, a mirror. a canvas painted with a self-portrait of my youth. a memory that you captured through spying lens; a photograph of you, by you.
i am your reflection. you are my reflection.
and i was staring at you --- an image of an old me --- hopeful, untainted by cynicism, every bit a romantic. and i remembered how lovely it was to be that me. how pure, how young, how true. and i wanted that me back. you made me want that me back.
and through that letter you were looking at me --- a recently-discovered facet of you --- excited with the promises of tomorrow, expectant, bustling with life and laden with emotions. and you know how wonderful it is to be this you.
i see a replica of me that is you, facing a rendering of you, of me, in you... through a piece of folded paper with lead scratches and stains. and as the mirror dissolved into complete surrender, what is left is me before you, brought back from the past, and you before me, looking ahead.
reading the same words.
Monday, May 08, 2006
v equals d over t
meanwhile still...
counting the days
counting the nights
the warm memories
run through my hair
like your fingers then,
they fill my chest
recalling your embrace
this cold present
have their sharp nails
crawling all over me
yesterday's light
laid roads
lead paths
today's darkness
folds tomorrows
molds mounds
counting the days
counting the nights
because i'm not with you
counting the days
counting the nights
the warm memories
run through my hair
like your fingers then,
they fill my chest
recalling your embrace
this cold present
have their sharp nails
crawling all over me
yesterday's light
laid roads
lead paths
today's darkness
folds tomorrows
molds mounds
counting the days
counting the nights
because i'm not with you
metaphors
meanwhile...
I am walking through the smog of confusion. Decent air is restricted by a smoke of uncertainty. I inhale and exhale questions that suffocate. This heavy breathing speaks for this heavy chest. That's why I let go of your hand. I want you to breathe conveniently.
You said rest is easy with the shelter i built for you. Whenever everywhere is cold, we were warm. And if the scorching daylight is angry, we close our doors to the world, and switch on an evening sky full of stars and the moon as our soft cushion.
Now as i am also this home's walls, i echo in every room telling you to leave. You see, i am burning inside and out. The wind is against me. It is skinning the roof, fanning the fire, while blowing me off my stand. Please go. It is better for you to see me crash into pieces than feel everything fall on you.
Yes. Those are metaphors. I can't afford to say straightforward words. I am scared it will leave bigger scars. I hope this is vivid enough.
You somehow know now the air I breathe. Do you want to be choked as i am now? What's better? To see a building collapse or be in it and be crushed?
I am walking through the smog of confusion. Decent air is restricted by a smoke of uncertainty. I inhale and exhale questions that suffocate. This heavy breathing speaks for this heavy chest. That's why I let go of your hand. I want you to breathe conveniently.
You said rest is easy with the shelter i built for you. Whenever everywhere is cold, we were warm. And if the scorching daylight is angry, we close our doors to the world, and switch on an evening sky full of stars and the moon as our soft cushion.
Now as i am also this home's walls, i echo in every room telling you to leave. You see, i am burning inside and out. The wind is against me. It is skinning the roof, fanning the fire, while blowing me off my stand. Please go. It is better for you to see me crash into pieces than feel everything fall on you.
Yes. Those are metaphors. I can't afford to say straightforward words. I am scared it will leave bigger scars. I hope this is vivid enough.
You somehow know now the air I breathe. Do you want to be choked as i am now? What's better? To see a building collapse or be in it and be crushed?