Inky stars blot the page,
Casting a worldly feel.
The words that are scrawled upon its paleness,
Turn the fiction into something real.
With every passing second, more moments are added.
Creating the lives we live.
We are merely the puppets, forced into a fate
That those before us did give.
©Odd
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Just a some what "odd" girl, living in what feels like a glass box. Hello Opuss, the savour of my sanity. my little private world amongst a life of being watched and watching.
What if time had a smell. It would smell of sand. The oil in clocks. And hourglass varnish. Of must and lichens. And cobwebs and cradles. And dust in corners. And metal pendulums.
I see a dog piss on a tree, And in that tree I can see us smiling, you and me. I see a bomb blast on the TV, And in that crater I can see us hiding, you and me.
Take this kiss upon the brow.
It may not have happened yet, But it won't be long until you fret. You will die, a deathly phrase, Used in one of Shakespeare's plays.
In these visionary clouds, see I Bereft of flesh and blood, just My soul, spiralling through droplets of Rain and sleet and ice and cold winds Blow me east and west and south And north to a new...
There are those that do believe. That the stars represent our souls. Our lost ones looking over us. Watching how our lives unfold. But I believe the stars. Represent wishes held in our hearts.
Slow burn. Worlds turn. And yet they stay. In their place today. Times change. And rearrange. Embrace the new. When they look for you. The old will seem. Like a fading dream. They hide, they guide.
Words are my toys, that bend and do not break. Like an unbreakable sword, double edged, give or take.
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