i am resting beneath a sea of lush green leaves
a kaleidoscope of colors is dancing behind my eyelids
drops of heat are wandering down my skin
dipping my toes in the pool of clear water,
i inhale the humid air around me
listening to the almost whispered songs of birds
i drown in crickets delight
to fragile the moment lost in time
copyright (c) by franzad 2017
the elasticity of the human soul
i feel myself floating through time
observing minutes, hours, years
but gravity anchors my body to earth
i want to tip my finger in the ripples of time
dust is rising in slowly around me
i already can feel my self decomposing
there are people, wandering through my house, planting seeds of grief and devastation.
the bleak smell of dried tears is adorning their whispered chatter.
abandoned footsteps on my garden path, my mum would be proud of the flower beds.
dust is filling empty cupboards and lukewarm coffee is painting circles on tabletops.
i want to capture this day, this moment where everything is schemes and shadows.
in the hollow of the light i still can see your dancing form.
my heart stretches, expanding so little.
for all the accumulated space and time. i filled with books and music. paintings and sunrises. the counting of your moles.
i feel the ever pleasant ache of giving away some part of me to conserve another one of natures wonders. the icy thornes of frozen twigs. white branches glistening in the pale morning light.
i breath in. the cold and ragged flickers of small wonders
your lips on mine –
under blazing starlight,
among snow-covered trees.
raspy whispers fluttering across my frozen cheek.
i stoke the cooling embers
flames licking up my spine. ignited.
and your skin. your touch. everywhere a tender caress.
bruises blossom around my hip bones.
a day, a year i feel your fire.
cold toes against your shin.
under blanket forts we count the dancing snowflakes.
shadowplay of branches drawing wild patterns on my skin.
I am blinking the horizon away.
heat is buzzing against my temples and sweat pearls are dripping down my back.
and endless drip, drip drip…
i can feel every step. every stone and grain, covering roadsides and unpaved walkways.
the air feels thick and burning, being pushed down my windpipe.
breath, breath, breath…
on and on. the landscape before me.
i am a little beating heart, surrounded by vibrant living beings.
Of skin, fur and feathers. bones as heavy as the ocean and light as the wind. floating by.
smells of earth, dirt and rain. Oh, the sweet smell of rain!
time is of no importance, only distance matters.
my own flesh. divided into four parts. each unique, with souls bound to mine.
i sit with them on our kitchen table. arguing about butter and bread.
my heart swells with abundance.
no matter how far i go, or how often i do leave. i can come back.
talking nonsense and imagine dragons. my thoughts and wishes are bound to thee.
rusty marks on chest and bone. i want to leave this place.
my brain is working full time. stop.
hide. behind rosy cheeks. your blackened eyes and
mean spirited demeanour.
from ashes. burned woods and cooling embers.
raise your voice. scream and stumble trough the roughness of your throat.
now is not the time to find cover. no threshhold will let you pass.
no candles in windows to lead you to a silver lining.
on this maddening path. in search for change. for one is only still when dying.
A few words…
Rising in my hollow self.
Resentments. Over dreadful past and stories.
I start scraping my skin again. Again.
Trying to peel of the layers of what is simmering inside my head.
A few words…
Enable me to bind myself to this glazing pain.
Free at last, singing my souls desire
copyright (C) 2014 by franzad
Figures of speech, running and chasing – to the uttermost bewilderment of man. Up on a hill and down, down to the ash-filled holes of earth and filth. I scramble my words, the scattered letters. Worn like a crown upon my heavy head.
The smart connections of daily conversations. On never stopping, gleaming screens. How do i yearn for the sound of sentences, brushing my ear. Numbness of intactions. Atrophie of humanity, how Huxley predicted it so many short years ago. I want the Beat- (nik) of familiar souls, simmering in this heart of mine.
Waitin, waiting till life starts trembling. Blood is streaming down my cheek from constant weeping. The smell of bound paper subsides to a dusted memory. Do you not crave the touch of skin on skin?
copyright (c) 2014 by franzad