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
The rearrangement of the senses.
In the transcendentalism of emerging thoughts.
Haying in the afternoons fading heat
i tend to wander away, around Waldens pond
the coolness of spent shadows
make words linger in my mind.
sweaty drops lumbering down my spine and lower
ha…..searing mind, decendes through worked muscles
– to yawning fingertips and toes.
pink and orange colored skies, in variations –
after the horizon with cricket songs
my spirits strive
copyright (c) 2014 by franzad
written for dVerse
Can be less than expected. Even cruel in it´s underestimated trait
– To end
Fleeting. I try to grasp all the forms confiding you.
Words and guestures. Often in haste, so full of anger.
Which origin i can not decipher.
Are etched into my skull, on the map my brain so naturally created.
You say, it has to be that way.
Whenever i cry out in pain. Infront of you. You ask my what to do.
All of this happened so many years ago. But for the child inside of me,
It never stopped. I try to draw it out of the shadows and weary minded memories.
You told me you loved me. So many times. “I am proud of you, my eldest.”
And still, he kept hitting me, tearing my soul to pieces. from time to time.
The mind developes strategies to put together the shattered fragments.
My mind lost some parts through time, to cope and live, a life i slowly come to understand.
The almost average brutallity of me, growig up in a mix of tears and laughter.
Grief over your weeping body. Silent weeping.
Shocked by my own mortality. My wilted, decaying body under ground. Melting with your ashes. Digested by worms and maggots. My soul is coiling up around herself. Freed of daily ordinaries. Pressed and filed are the normed behavior patterns , fading in the memories of the living.
What remains are filtered fragments. To sougar-coat the past. The memories. To ultimately accept the never unchangeable.
I am. But diffrent. All these versions of myself. Most of the time.