Friday, August 17, 2007

Top of a Porcupine Tree

A bubble floating in aimless space
amiss on a grapevine of desire
a guttral broke into a riff of bass
ever wondered the sound of crackling fire?

Broken verses stitch together words
random musings wither away sanity
wash them off like slipping soap suds
the drain - a resting place of vanity

This new city of dreams
promises to set free
but what about silent screams
that inhibits the verb - being from me

All forces must retreat in the still of the night
the unwritten law proclaims full to abide
for a wind and string propel even a liberated kite
it is to break, fall and be brisked to the side...

1 comment:

Nothingman said...

Wake up, Take bath, Office, Return ,Sleep.

Repeat Six Days A Week.

Hooray! I have fubared your poem!! :P