Dark Poetry Prose Poetry October 28, 2004 Dark Poetic Prose

10-28-04 10:33pm thursday

everything's been written down like faces carved in mountains. every promise broken.

birds don't fly because they have wings. or feathers. they fly because their bones are hollow.

makes me wonder whether hollow is a burden or a gift.

it moves. in quiet footsteps. like a infant learning to walk. it bobbles. it falls. all the while we are watching. coaxing it to reach us.

with open arms and hungry hearst. and nothing to look forward to except. because life as we know it is a greeting card at best. stale platitudes that we devour because they're our only bread.

10-28-04 10:57pm thursday

time, she don't know what we're gonna do with her. could be malicious. could be kind.

she don't know. don't know at all. what's in store.

life multiplies. as it's prone to do. every bandage it puts into place only exacerbating those wounds.

i know what i want, but it doesn't matter still.

time isn't the villain. suspect as it may be. life isn't either. as easy as a target it can seem.

it's just us. nothing more. selfish as we are. it's just us. the people we've become overshadowing the people we thought we were.

as old as we get we constantly lose ourselves over and over. it's not time. it's not life. it's just what we are.

portholes on a ship afloat. but the ocean has long swallowed them. windows, yes. but they can't be openeed.