I wake from a dream world- by sentienttree, literature
Literature
I wake from a dream world-
I wake from a dream world, a hard world, a real world.
I wake into a word world, an image world, an illusion world.
I wake with the half formed hope that words are secretly more than words.
I get up, and I slip away from those real feelings, those touching feelings, those so-close-I-could-kiss-you feelings.
I get up. I get away. I get out.
I fall asleep. I abandon my dreams.
I go out. I walk. I talk. I play the illusion games.
I sit. I think. I pretend. I lose sight of my yarn in the labyrinth of imagining.
I wake, and I hope that words are secretly more than words.
I come home. I sit. I think. I wonder if tomorrow will be the same.
There was a time in my life,
when I was afraid-
and you were there,
arms open,
embracing.
There was a time in my life,
when I was silent-
and yet full,
of desperate words teeming to be said-
and you were there,
quiet, waiting, listening.
There was a time in my life,
when I didn't know myself-
and you were there to hold me,
to tell me that no one truly knows themselves,
that you yourself had been lost,
son without a father,
stranger in your homeland,
outcast.
There was a time in my life
when I wished I had your courage-
and you were there,
not to lend me yours-
but to help me
find my own.
The wind on the mountain- by sentienttree, literature
Literature
The wind on the mountain-
The wind on the mountain was quietly blowing,
and the trees in the valley were quietly growing,
And I thought I knew friendship,
I thought I knew faith,
when I heard that sweet promise: 'we'll meet again.'
Then the wind on the mountain was quietly stirring
the grass in the meadow that smells of the morning,
and the sun in the morning was quietly shining
on the cold mountain that smells of the dawn.
And in the light of the sunrise I sung it again,
and I heard the kind falsehood: 'we'll meet again.'
And then the moon in the valley was stirring the trees
that came from the mountain that shines in the dawn-
And I thought I knew sadness,
I thoug
Your touch is like a butterfly that did not mean to land.
I treasure it and for a moment I am tree and am not human.
I catch these butterflies with a net I wove myself, and
I pin them down on paper and view them at my leisure, and
I lie beside them and say "I am a tree," and
they will never disagree, but lay there dead, and do not make a sound, and
I feel sick, because I know butterflies have never lived upon a board, and
I feel sick, because these dead dry things are all I have of you.
The interior of the sun is dark.
It is here blindness is born.
Mercury once loved the sun-
that is why he is still running.
In the clouds of Venus fresh air is pollution,
so breathe deep and die.
The Earth is an uncut jewel.
It glistens fresh and wet.
There is no heaven on the moon.
If you die there you are lost.
Mars was great, once.
Funny how that happens.
In the gases of Jupiter, storms are king,
and the wind and fire are queens.
Saturn is too good for the rest of them.
That is why she always eats alone.
There is a small ocean is the heart of Uranus,
that no one had ever seen.
Neptune was a prince, once,
now he rules nothing but a
My little words will not convince you-
(You know it, and I do too.)
My little words will not impress you-
(You've said as much before.)
My little words are nothing,
but ants upon a page.
(Your opinions are nothing,
but crumbs beside them.)